


Kept Man

by QueenyMidas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety Disorder, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Depression, Dom/sub, F/F, F/M, Gen, Kept Man, M/M, Magic, Multi, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Rentboys, Rimming, blowjob, kept boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:18:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 117,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenyMidas/pseuds/QueenyMidas
Summary: A downtrodden Harry Potter in a serious dry spell is looking to be a kept man, and a lonely Draco Malfoy responds to his anonymous ad. A perfect storm of lust, scandal, and maybe even love. A Daddy Kink Magnum Opus.





	1. Kind and Cruel

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my head for years. I wrote ‘Shameless’ (another fic of mine) when I was a lot younger and certainly all the less wise for it as my rentboy!Draco fic and I always swore that when I got better with writing/the concept of sex work I’d do it better with a fic with Harry on the other side of the transaction. He’s not a rentboy here but he’s sugaring, and he’s sugaring for love instead of money. Lots of BDSM shenanigans incoming, so I’ll warn with specific labels per chapter. The overall TWs are for sex work, D/s relationships, BDSM, Daddy Kink, etc. but as usual with me it’ll all be safe, sane, and consensual! Other TWs include Harry being quite depressed and anxious at first, suffering from PTSD and trichotillomania.

**Chapter 1: Kind and Cruel**

_Submissive man seeking to be kept by a kind, cruel, true Dominant Daddy. I will earn my keep in your home however you see fit. Hardworking, eager, open to anything once. Seeking discipline, structure, empathy and torture. Thin, 168cm. Dark hair, green eyes. Discretion far more important than your means. --H_

              _Discretion far more important than your means._ Why in the hell had he worded it like that? Draco twisted the Malfoy signet ring on his index finger, a habit he’d picked up since he had started wearing it. The ad referenced housing, so it wasn’t like this bloke was married and sneaking about. What did he need discretion for, and why did he need it even more than he needed money? That was sort of the point of this, right?

              Draco had been envisioning this entire situation—an imagined fantasy of saving some street rat and starting some Pretty Woman makeover—in a limited way, it seemed. Discretion more important than money, what an odd request. Did this man want to sugar in a trailer park? No doubt this ad had gotten countless replies already because of that caveat the man added to the end. Draco wondered if he should even bother writing in. Money was his edge here, and while he had a deeper vault in Gringotts than any other candidate could dream of, what if the person who put this ad out rejected him anyway? Could there be anything more pathetic?

              Replaying the text of the ad a few more times in his head did nothing to ease Draco’s mind. He Vanished away the magazine with a resigned huff, reserving this dilemma for Future Draco.

              “Healer Malfoy!” someone shouted outside his office door, one intern or another. They were a rotating cast of young faces that turned to mostly disgust whenever in Draco’s presence. Such was the legacy his parents had lain for him and he had indeed followed along with in Hogwarts. Draco liked to think he was changing, becoming a better wizard and a better human more importantly, but he was hardly going to go grovel to the likes of them for forgiveness for what he did when his life and parent’s lives were threatened.

              Draco had gotten forgiveness in stranger places when he asked for it, though. Potter had given it to him without him even asking, an act that still stupefied him to this day. That selfless, compassionate bastard. Probably did it for the good karma points. That, or survivor’s guilt, but that was a much less funny concept bordering on frighteningly real for Draco as well.

              He tried to channel his own guilt, his own neuroses, into something positive. It made him a thorough Healer, always skeptical of the easy solutions now. His methods were sound, and those patients that didn’t reject him outright usually came to be quite grateful of his services, making him their primary Healer. He took pride in that, and sought greater power in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries not to line his already-stuffed pockets but to help more people. Maybe if he helped enough people in such a real, tangible way like saving their lives or easing their pains then it might be enough.

              Father was always pushing him to be more ambitious with his desire for promotions, but Draco didn’t exactly give his advice as much credence as he used to these days. To his credit Lucius had taken to post-war life well enough, banished to the France Estate of the Malfoy family while only Draco was permitted to set foot in the Manor again.

              It was up to Draco to restore his old home, restore his name, and to restore himself. Doing it alone was proving trying.

              _Discretion far more important than your means._ Yeah, well, how discrete would this man be if he realized an ex-Death Eater was contacting him? Draco could see the Prophet headlines now— _Loveless Malfoy Heir Seeks Male Fetish Companion_. Wouldn’t his dear mother and father just _love_ that?

              “Healer Malfoy?!” the voice rang more urgently this time.

              “Coming!” Draco sighed, pocketing his wand in his robe and hauling himself up from the office chair to open his door. “Yes, what is it?” he huffed at the unlucky intern sent to fetch him. She looked like she still belonged in a school robe, all bright and perky so early in the morning.

              “The patient in 394 was responding successfully to the potion, but we looked away just a moment and then all of this—this blue stuff was coming out! I’ve never seen anything like it!” she exclaimed.

              “’Coming out’ of where? Please, be specific in your medical—“

              “Everywhere, Healer Malfoy. Coming out of everywhere.”

              “Oh, joy.” Draco brought up the charmed linen barrier he kept strung around his neck to cover his nose and mouth. He snapped on gloves as he walked, and as they approached the room in question he picked up the foul, fetid scent of rotten fruit. The intern was trying not to shed a tear at its intensity. Draco sighed. Was she Mary or was she Britney? Either way she’d clearly only add to the mess with her weak stomach. “You wait out here, I can do this on my own.” She backed up in silent, reverent head bows. “A Healer’s work is never done,” Draco declared before opening the door so a wave of hot, nasty rot could hit him head-on.

“Mr. Pierson!” Draco greeted his blue muck-covered patient who looked just as horrified as the intern had been, if not worse. “What seems to be the problem?”

*** *** ***

              It took three showers in the employee locker room and several angrily-muttered spells, but Draco’s hair was finally clean enough to be up to his standards. He’d nearly scrubbed his scalp raw in the process, but it was all worth it to have that goop smell off of him.

              Charmed blueberry incident—that was a new one. The novelty forced Draco to be the one that wrote up the report, as Head Healer Pye would drive a lice-comb through the paperwork when he got wind of a file heading to the Records. New cases were always sent there upon first encountering them, and Pye was always intercepting them to make sure things were ‘up to par’ before they got there. Draco had stayed an extra hour filling out nonsense for this alone, and then the shower robbed him of more time.

              He wouldn’t be back to the Manor until long after dark, and being there was more draining than work sometimes. While his father and mother were exiled to the estate in France it fell to the sole heir of the Malfoy family to rebuild upon their Wiltshire land to ‘reclaim what was theirs’ or whatever Lucius was on about now.

              Lucius had put up immense resistance to Draco’s demolition needs when it came to construction, but it all had to go. Malfoy Manor had spoiled from the inside-out when Lucius invited The Dark Lord into their home. The boards themselves had rotted, pestilence overtaking the house. Upon further reports of the extensive damage, Lucius caved.

The patriarch only ever apologized to two people in the world: his wife, and his son. The world would never see how broken he was after the Battle of Hogwarts, how he wept and clung to Narcissa and Draco for dear life decrying himself.

              Draco’s father’s pride returned slowly after the War Trials when their sentencing had been carried out. Potter had been their saving grace again by demanding the abolishment of Azkaban and extreme leniency in the Malfoy’s favor. Harry hadn’t gotten the former, and that seemed like a big blow to his ego or whatever, that righteous, sexy bastard—wait, what? Ugh, Draco was tired. No time to think about schoolyard rivalries, especially ones that might inappropriately excite him at work.

              He stepped out of the shower into his sandals and wrapped a towel around himself on the way to his locker. With a drying spell and a quick change of clothes he was on his way, out of the locker room, employee lounge, and into the lobby.

              The massive fountain sparkled, and as always Draco’s eyes went right to the edges. He was always morbidly curious about who was donating. He’d seen people dump sacks into the charmed waters and walk away shaking, as if this was their penance. People sometimes jumped into the fountain to try and reclaim donations even though it would feel ankle-deep to them, the donations kept safe under a shielding spell that only allowed coins through quite close to the surface. A little charm played a ‘thank you!’ illusion. Pye said it increased donations 25%, but Draco had not seen the numbers on that and was reserving his opinion with prejudice on the older man.

              Before the fountain sprang a dark Aphrodite.

              “Sure took you long enough,” Pansy greeted him with the utmost affection that a Parkinson was capable of. She had long since changed out of her front desk uniform and was in a tight little number of a green dress that brought Draco once more back to his schooldays.

              “And you got dressed up all for me,” Draco joked, receiving a jab in his side for his jest. “Ow! Rude, you’re so rude, how did you ever get hired here?”

              Pansy snickered. “I get off on denying people—being the one who gets to say you’re too busy to see someone is the perfect high. Other than, you know, actually getting high.”

              Merlin, Draco loved this woman. Shrewd, shrill, and self-indulgent to a fault—they would have really made a wonderful arranged marriage like Lucius had hoped for if Draco was somehow straight. “So, where are you taking them tonight?” Draco inquired, walking her across the lobby.

              “Tonight we’re doing the casinos of Atlantic City—I’ve a Portkey there and a hotel suite booked up. I’m mostly just looking to blow on some dice, but I’ve heard Blackjack can be fun and I am always happy to bet on Niffler races. No matter what I get to retreat to a Presidential Suite with my two most loyal attendants and receive the adoration I deserve.” Pansy sighed loudly, fondly, and deeply sexually, twirling her hair with her index finger as she and Draco approached the edge of the wards. Apparation was only possible in the foyer, to prevent those of ill intent from sneaking into patients’ rooms unbeknownst to hospital staff.

              The pair stepped outside the wards and turned to face each other. “Good,” Draco said. “Good, I’m glad you three are having fun.”

              “You know,” Pansy said, voice a little too sincere for Draco’s taste. “I really do have to thank you for introducing me to that magazine. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about your little quest, too.”

              “Please, do not call it a quest,” Draco sighed, stepping away and making the gestures that he was about to apparate away soon.

              “Wait!” Pansy said, reaching out for his wrist. “Before you go, you have to tell me.”

              “Tell you what?”

              “Tell me you’re going to respond to at _least_ one sub ad in there. You look tense, Draco. You need to get laid,” Pansy informed him seriously. Draco rolled his eyes. “I mean it. You need to at least try, even if it doesn’t work out the first couple times. You have so much to offer, Draco. A big house that needs fixing, endless money, a big cock—“

              “Pansy!” Draco looked around to make sure nobody heard that.

              “—what, I’ve seen it plenty of times! Ugh, you didn’t even let me get to the part about your sparkling personality. Pretty _rude_ of _you_ to interrupt.” Pansy liked to hold onto grudges like a hoarder to newspaper. Of course she hadn’t forgotten his little jab. “Just—try with someone who emphasizes being private. If they’re paranoid in their ad there’s no way they’ll sell you out to The Prophet and risk themselves like that.” At least she hoped not—any wizarding newspaper would give buckets of galleons to anyone with dirt on Draco Malfoy.

Draco becoming a Healer did not sit right with a majority of people, and plenty wanted to see him chased out of the profession in humiliation. That wasn’t even to mention his sexuality which he had not hidden but certainly not announced.

              Pansy was only tangentially related to the war, her parents too rightfully frightened to fight just as she was, and she still got remarks and stares. Draco had it much, much worse than her, and it made her worry.

              “Fine, one, whatever it takes to have you never talk about my love life in public ever again,” Draco huffed, waving his hands dismissively. Pansy intentionally incorrectly took that as a gesture for a hug and went in for a tight one. “Why are you like this,” Draco hissed into the constriction.

              “You love me,” she replied, and knew he couldn’t deny it. “You better fill me in on all the details, okay? I want to hear all about the one, maybe even two you respond to.”

              “One,” Draco insisted for naught. He shook his head and cracked a smile, and so did Pansy. “Have a good weekend, Panda.”

              “You too, my Dragon.” And just like that Pansy was gone, apparated away to wherever her loyal servants were picking her up.

              Draco didn’t linger long after his customary eyeroll. He took a deep breath, focusing hard on the Manor and closing his eyes only to have them open on the front door. Home sweet home, he supposed.

              He kicked off his shoes and stepped into his monogrammed house slippers, a Christmas gift from mother. The first floor was restored far beyond its original glory in Draco’s humble opinion, and so was the marble staircase leading up to his room on the third, but the rest was either covered in tarp or under construction. Most nights he didn’t even look at the second floor, too overwhelmed with the chore list ahead of him there. Draco had put the tarps down intending to paint about a month ago and wasn’t even able to touch it because of the plumbing issues he’d had putting in the new master bathroom. Worth it for the massive tub, though.

              The Manor was a work in progress, he had to remind himself. It was unsettling to come home to more work than he’d left behind at the hospital, but it had to be done and there was no one else to do it. Once it was done Draco would get to feel proud and show it off, so that was a strong motivator when his familial duties didn’t feel as convincing.

              Draco wanted to point to both things in his life, his home and his career, and say he was doing better than everyone who wished him ill had screamed that he deserved hell. It was a petty wish but Draco Malfoy had lots of petty wishes and there was nothing wrong with that, he was but a gay wizard in a trying world that seemed determined to kill him and his parents.

              He trudged up to his room, the master bedroom as he was now the master of this house, and lit all the candles in his room with a flick of his wand. This was his sanctuary, his place from which he could pretend the rest of the house looked this nice.

              Draco had spared no expense on his comfort here. The wide, open space had a tall ceiling with a grand chandelier hanging above the California King mattress. The finest linens, the smoothest silks, and the sturdiest headboard a wizard could have adorned Draco’s bed, the covers taupe adorned with white flowers, and plush to the touch. The mattress itself was a marvel, soft as a cloud and warm as a nest.

              Rather unceremoniously Draco flung himself onto the bed. He laid on his side, wand in hand, and let out a groan to be reunited with his faithful bed. How he’d missed it. He turned his head to the side to get comfortable and his gaze fell upon one of the dark mahogany beside stands, the one where he kept the books and publications he was currently reading. Atop the pile was the same magazine he had summoned to his office to look over in his spare time.

              Something deep in Draco’s chest ached hollowly. He grimaced, swallowed, and reached out to grab the magazine. The page he wanted was already dog-eared in it.

_Submissive man seeking to be kept by a kind, cruel, true Dominant Daddy. I will earn my keep in your home however you see fit. Hardworking, eager, open to anything once. Seeking discipline, structure, empathy and torture. Thin, 168cm. Dark hair, green eyes. Discretion far more important than your means. -H_

              Kind and cruel, empathy and torture… Draco brushed his fingertips over the words as if that could better help him feel them. He had even stressed discretion as Pansy advised, and Draco was now properly horrified to realize he was taking her advice.

              If there was to be ‘just one’ he would contact, it would be this man. Everything about him seemed perfect from how he was shorter than Draco—what could he say, he was shallow on that one—to how he said he was hardworking, though Draco was managing expectations and refusing to get his hopes too high up.

              Still, they were high enough to make him reach for a quill and parchment, shaking his head at himself all the while. Was he really doing this? Was he really putting himself out there to be hurt like this on his own free will? Could there be anything more foolish, any pursuit more doomed to fail than his?

Maybe that was a bit dramatic, considering he’d survived a war, but the lone Malfoy heir had guarded his heart so long. He’d had trysts and flirtationships and all manners of sex with men—he was approaching thirty, dammit—and never once exposed himself deeper than taking off his clothes.

Draco wanted this more than he cared to admit. He wanted to be there for someone, and to provide for them, and help them achieve whatever dreams they had, too. Being a Daddy obviously involved a sexual component he enjoyed to no end, but beyond having some blokes call him by that title while getting spanked he’d never really, actually _been_ a Daddy.

Daddies took care of their partners. They supported them emotionally, financially, whatever they needed. Daddies, _true_ Daddies, put their submissive’s needs and goals first. Wasn’t that the exact phrase this man had used in his ad: _true_ Daddies? That was what Draco aspired to, and he knew he would never see it realized if he didn’t at least try.

Draco took a deep breath and began to write.

*** *** ***

              In all the times Harry Potter had imagined what life would be like after The Wizarding War, of all the fantasies he’d spun about the things he’d get to do after vanquishing the man who’d taken his family from him, he’d never included this much idle boredom.

              The hum of the television in the background was just enough noise the room less empty but not so much that it flooded Harry’s thoughts. He yawned, scratching behind his head. How long had been sleeping? Was he still sleeping now?

              Whatever he’d been watching on the television to pass the time was long done airing, and now an infomercial for a special towel was lighting up the screen. Harry thought hard for a moment.

              “It was… I was watching… some crime show,” he tried to recall aloud. “Husband killed his wife on a boat.” The editing had managed to make even that dull and boring to Harry.

              Harry often got so bored, so droopy and wilted, that he conked out on the nearest flat surface. That was just fine considering he didn’t leave the flat much, and even the carpet here could be nice to lay on sometimes. He was doing a lot of laying down these days, and not in the way he wished he was.

              He squinted to see the blackout curtains letting in a sliver of light. So it was morning, then? Or afternoon. Harry usually didn’t want to know the time, hence the curtains, but for the first time in a long while he was paying attention to the clock again. The magazine had gone out into circulation—Harry checked his muggle phone—about fifty hours ago. He told himself he had to wait forty-eight so as to not rush things when he was still reeling from submitting the ad in the first place.

              How his heart had pumped when he sent the ad in. It had almost scared him to hear it so loud in his ears. Then the approval of the ad came back and this heady, hot feeling came over him again, and once more when the magazine went into circulation and he was able to read his own ‘anonymous’ writing. That intense and sudden physical sensation had been a terrifying mix of fear, shame, desire, sadness, anger, too—it was all emotions at once, and scared this brave Gryffindor half to death. There were so many ways this could go wrong and every time Harry tried to list them—exposed to the press, taken advantage of while in submission, no one responding at all because even anonymously he wasn’t worth shit to anyone—he got panicked like this.

              Gripping his wand in his pocket was the constant reminder of the power he did have. It had become a tell. He would have never wanted to lead such a public life if he’d gotten the choice. The cameras were and continued being the worst thing about being Harry Potter. The flash that captured his dumbfounded face made him wince, and he had only sunglasses as his defense.

              People lunged at him. They yelled nonsense about prophecy or hatred or ‘fated’ love that was really obsession. It was all to bait Harry into saying something in return to satisfy them. It had been worse right after the war, when everyone was speculating ‘what he was going to do next’. Harry had just wanted to fucking sleep.

              The Wizarding World viewed him as their collective orphan child hero, and Harry flat-out refused to engage with complete strangers as if their advice was an authority for him, asking all the questions Molly asked of Ron. That was Harry’s only real look at parenting beyond how Vernon and Petunia had treated Dudley. Andromeda was doing well with Teddy, as she’d done with Tonks, but that was distant and sometimes too upsetting to face.

              These strangers who approached him were not his parents, not anything to him, really, and he resented them so much he stayed inside to keep thoughts of the general wizarding public away.

              Harry could have just written that he wanted a general caretaker, but he didn’t. Familial love was one thing, and he had it, and had nothing to do with. It was separate for him, this concept of being a Daddy. It was something he’d heard young, in the muggle schools whispered on the streets about the single mothers around the area, about teachers and waitresses. ‘Kelly’s gotten posh ‘cause she went and got a Daddy!’. Petunia loved to gossip loudly with Harry in his assigned cupboard.  At the time it was both the money that Harry focused on and one key factor: escape. It was forbidden slang, a forbidden thing for a boy to want.

              He had all the money he could ask for now, and no reason to spend it beyond throwing chunks at charities or St. Mungo’s out of guilt.

              Harry took deep breaths like Hermione had showed him. There was something he could hold onto—he was worth something to at least two people in the world and found them more than worthy in return. Ron and Hermione were quite literally in the trenches with him, and had forged a bond of friendship to last a lifetime. They had forged a romantic bond between themselves after the War, and that meant a little less time with them, but other than some awkward heterosexual displays of affection everything was the same.

              It was hard to keep the ad he’d sent in to himself. Just after sending it Hermione had made a surprise visit with treacle tarts from a bakery nearby—her way of letting him know she was worried about him. She meant well, she always did, but there was no way Harry could talk to her about this. Hermione could tell he was keeping something from her, too, but thankfully she hadn’t pushed too hard.

              Soon enough Ron would show up for his own visit because he worried too, and clearly felt eternally guilty. He had become an Auror while Harry didn’t, and now Auror Weasley’s time was spent protecting the wizarding world. Ron was making some really great changes internally, but Harry could tell he wished they were doing that together. They were meant to be partners.

              It wasn’t truly meant to be, though. Harry had to accept that, and so did Ron. Harry had failed all psychological evaluations, and every consecutive therapist he saw only made him feel like more of a freakshow so he’d stopped going altogether, stopped trying to get into an organization that clearly thought him insane.

              Maybe they were right. Sane people didn’t lock themselves in their flats crying and masturbating all day until the days turned to weeks and months. Sane people usually didn’t like the idea of being someone’s kept toy, right? And they definitely didn’t write that desire down for any random man to contact him about. Harry wasn’t naïve—he knew there was great danger here. There were people who enjoyed sadomasochism and then there were people who enjoyed committing violence and found BDSM as their way to do it without guilt. The role he was putting himself in was an extremely vulnerable one already, and he hadn’t even gotten face-to-face with anyone yet.

              Merlin, he was crazy. Harry had really done that. He had really, truly confessed his dark desires to the wizarding public—or at least those who read this publication—in hopes of seeing them come true.

              A chill went up Harry’s spine even though it wasn’t cold. Here on his couch he was wrapped in a nest of blankets and pillows, empty snack bags littered across the coffee table in front of him. Harry brushed crumbs off of his lap and stood weakly.

              It was time.

              Harry padded over to his bedroom, having left the door shut so he wouldn’t be able to see when responses came. Maybe there wouldn’t be any at all. The magazine, Safeword, had a magical mailing system that was much more subtle than owls. With a subscription to the magazine came a charmed scroll device unique to each user, where messages could be written back and forth on an ever-expanding piece of unfurling parchment. The tail end grew and grew based on the message received, and the messages could be erased by rolling up the head end into the ornate black scroll case, sending the quillmarks to oblivion.

              Harry’s hand lingered on the doorknob. That horrible, hot sensation was twisting in his gut again. Was this too little time to wait for replies? Or was he already late on replying to someone who would have wanted him but was now too impatient? Only one way to find out.

              He opened the door and saw what had once been a tiny scroll now a massively long piece of parchment paper running all the way from his desk to the bed and back again. “Oh,” he said in pleasant surprise. “Well, alright then.” It looked like he had some serious reading to do.

              Harry approached the tail end of the device, figuring he’d read these in order of who sent them in first. So much for not being wanted—now he just felt overwhelmed. So many men had written back, but did any of them mean what they said? He really, really hoped his highlighting of the discretion necessary to make this work had only attracted those of like mind.

              Seeing all these men who’d written him was absolutely mad. No bloke had ever liked Harry for Harry—they liked Harry Potter, Savior of the World, no matter how hard they tried to hide it.

              He sat with crossed legs on his bed, settling into the rumpled sheets with all the messages of the blokes who liked him just based on a measly paragraph description. It made something rare blossom inside Harry’s chest—hope. That was dangerous.

              Ron and Hermione were great to him, but dammit, was he lonely in a way they could never fix. Harry’s deepest hope, that he might find a man to love who would love him in return, seemed too lofty a dream for him to even talk about with his friends. With his fame and fortune, his deteriorating mental health, and his general lack of motivation towards anything at all these days, the only parts of himself he could imagine any man liking were the galleons of the Potter vault and the renown that came with them.

              But these men had no idea who he was—and that was enough to spark hope for the first time in a long time that he could find someone, that his life could change. Oh, how he hoped it changed, because if things kept up like this he might go catatonic in this constant oscillation between bored and panicked. He couldn’t go on like this.

Harry held on tight to the hope he wouldn’t have to go on like this and plunged headfirst into his reading, seeking his out, his escape.


	2. The Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why Drarry fanfic pours out of me by the thousands of words but I can never get more than a few hundred out a week of my book. Welp.

**Chapter 2: The Offer**

 

_H—_

_You’ve caught my eye. I understand your need for discretion, and have more than the means necessary to provide it. I live alone in large house that needs much more work put into it to make a home, so perhaps we can test how hardworking you are. I can be the true Daddy you need. I can provide for you—structure, comfort, a sense of belonging and recognition. I can be Draconian, but I have a feeling you’ll come to like that, too. You won’t be slacking off under my watch. Your continued performance will reward you with anything you desire, and you’ll learn to crave your punishments, too._

_I would love to discuss terms, talk boundaries and hard no’s. Do not be afraid to voice what you dislike. I take my role as a Dominant seriously, and focus on the pleasure of my subs above my own. I am a fit bloke at 182cm, and a natural blonde. Take as much time as you need with your reply, but remember—Daddy’s waiting._

_\--D_

              Draco levitated the shelf up, placing it carefully on the brackets he’d installed with great care and lots of measuring. Starting out in his bedroom Draco had learned the hard way how wrong construction magic could go, and how frustrating it was to put up something perfectly only to realize it was off-center. He wasn’t exactly getting his hands dirty but the wandwork was tough, and needed absolute precision.

              On a chair next to the shelving yet to be mounted was the ornate black scroll from Safeword. Draco was feeling rather pathetic keeping it near him but he wanted to know if there was a response at the first available moment. He could write back faster that way, maybe secure the man’s affection with his quick attention.

              It was approaching the day mark since Draco had sent his reply, but sometimes these things took time. This man sounded new to the scene, and a little bit terrified from how blunt he was in his ad. Perhaps Draco was reading too much into it. He had been staring at the magazine ever since he’d sent the reply, even fallen asleep with it next to him in bed as if he would wake up to see it transform into the man himself.

              When no such thing happened Draco supposed it was time to tackle the guest bedroom considering he might have a guest soon that wasn’t just Pansy or Theo crashing in his bed. Draco selected the one closest to his own room but still a ways down the hall, to keep his sub close but not invade his privacy. The submissive having his own room was important. He needed a space to decorate, to fill, and to retreat to if he needed it. His independence wasn’t going to be forfeit to Draco, not entirely, that wouldn’t be any fun at all.

              Draco wondered if this ‘H’ might want in his room to begin with. It didn’t have to specifically be ‘H’, for if he rejected him Draco would brood but not forever. Writing to this man felt like a catalyst for change. Even if it wasn’t ‘H’ in this room he would find someone to cherish. Pansy was a floozy and a drunk but a wonderful motivational speaker. Her words got to Draco as they always did, the support he needed but didn’t know he wanted.

              He did have a sparkling personality, didn’t he? The pendulum between self-hatred and narcissism swung in massive strokes with Draco and he was on an upswing. He was hot, and rich, and fucking hilarious when he wanted to be, nevermind that whole ‘Death Eater’ business! He frowned at himself just for thinking that and so the pendulum swung back to self-loathing.

              There would be a few more swings as Draco decorated the room but such was typical of an evening alone in the Manor. At least the construction gave him something to do. Even better than construction was decorating the rooms. He’d purchased a great deal of furniture and used the shrinking charm on it so he could store it all in a closet, and need only reverse the spell to get the items back to their full size.

              For this room he had chosen a muted cream paint, something neutral that could easily be painted over with whatever its inhabitant wished for. The bedframe was a beech wood and so were the shelves beside it. Draco picked a soft mattress out, a damn expensive one too, and would ask later if ‘H’ or some other man preferred it firmer. All of this was subject to change, he knew, so he kept decorating sparse with a vase of flowers on the bedside table. The curtains were a light blue, draped elegantly across both windows in the room. The sheets were white with a darker blue comforter, the same quality of linens he’d gotten for his own room. His boy would be pampered, and want for nothing.

              After placing a light wood desk, a laundry bin, and a trashbin all with flicks of his wand, Draco tried to think of what he used most often. The closet was fully stocked, a walk-in with seemingly endless drawers on either side. “Ah,” Draco said when he realized what was missing. He expanded a decorative mirror to hang on the wall adjacent from the bed.

              The bathroom had a full-length mirror as well as one above the sink, but one could never have too many in Draco’s not-so-humble opinion. The guest bathroom was about half the size of Draco’s but still triple the size of any normal bathroom, as were all the future planned guest rooms. It also had a giant bathtub with jets, as well as a bench to recline on and towel storage above it. Draco stocked the linens, bath mats, and even a toothbrush in an ornate white holder for someone’s future use.

              Next came the stocking of the mountain of products Draco would require his sub to use. Lotions, hand creams, soaps by the dozen, shampoo and conditioner more expensive than most folks’ rent, facemasks and more—Draco wasn’t kidding about not letting him slack. Personal hygiene was paramount, and he liked to manage how his sub smelled. One bottle of his favorite cologne and one of his favorite perfume were lined up on the sink counter as well, unsure which might be preferred. Better safe than sorry.

              Draco was filling the cabinet beneath the sink with bathroom cleaning supplies and extra toilet tissue when he heard a metallic hum from the bedroom. He sprang up embarrassingly fast and ran to the scroll casing to see parchment eek out of it inch by inch, a reply to his message. His heart leapt, and he had to remind himself to take a minute to let the whole thing unfurl before reading.

              He took a lap around the room shaking out the excess energy in his hands. Still printing. He took another lap, and the buzzing stopped.

              Wide-eyed, he reached forward to clutch the parchment for dear life and read.

              _D—_

_I’m very interested in what you’re offering. If I’m being honest I’ve always fancied blondes. If I’m being honest I also should say I haven’t done anything like this before. I had to make a change in my life, though, and this was always something I fantasized about. As for hard limits I can’t say I’ve got too many. Just no small spaces, no toilet stuff, and I don’t think I’d like being choked._

_My bigger concern isn’t what you’re into. I have an unfortunately public image, and if anyone found out I was doing anything like this I’d be laughed out of the wizarding world, possibly the entire world. I want to explore with you, but only when I know I’m safe. I also reserve the right to walk out on this whenever I want knowing you won’t reveal it after I’m gone. I need to be able to trust you. What does the ‘D’ stand for? Daddy, or your name?  I’d like to call you by both, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to hear more about what you look like, too, and the house you live in, if that’s also okay. Hope to hear from you soon._

_\--H_

Draco’s stomach fluttered. Without hesitation he took up his quill to reply.

*** *** ***

              Merlin, that was the stupidest thing Harry had ever written. He put his head in his hands and shook it, letting out a beleaguered sigh all the way. What if this ‘D’ thought he was vain for asking about his appearance? Offending him in the first message was a great way to go, excellent job, Potter.

              Harry grabbed his hair and tugged on it until a few strands came out. He looked down to see what he’d done and gritted his teeth. Dammit. He wasn’t supposed to be doing that anymore. “Fucking…” Harry grumbled, standing up from his desk and leaning on the chair, unsure of what to do now that he’d likely made a fool of himself.

              His stomach growled, an unfortunate reminder that he often forgot to eat. He wasn’t trying to get any thinner, but for some reason it always slipped his mind that he had a body he needed to take care of. After the war Harry tried to gain the weight back from before the Camping Trip From Hell, but it never seemed to stick around long. It seemed he was doomed to be spindly and short at the same time. He forced himself towards the kitchen.

              ‘D’ was a solid twelve centimeters taller than him, and Harry was definitely interested in that. Most men were taller than him so it wasn’t hard, but still. He hoped he wasn’t too much older, but he likely would be given the situation. Harry didn’t mind that much, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping they were close in age.

              Harry opened his fridge to reveal quite the sad display. He was hardly wanting for coin or muggle money, but it was getting out of the house that was the problem. The remnants of his last trip a week ago included ice cream, leftover spaghetti, a whole lot of carrots for some reason, and one last frozen pizza from what had once been a mighty stack. He opted for the pizza.

              “Need to go shopping,” Harry told himself as if that would help get him out the door. He’d spent all day reading messages from men who wanted him, of which there were quite a few. A lot of their messages were short, some just inquiries about his length and girth and how much pain he could take. Harry really didn’t know how to answer the latter question. He’d hooked up with men and his first time had hurt in a surprisingly pleasant way, and he’d gladly let some rough him up and spank him, but Harry had no idea what a practicing Dominant’s pain scale looked like. He wasn’t even really a practicing submissive yet, either.

              Some of the replies were just bank statements from Gringotts, indicating those applicants hadn’t really read his ad. Discretion over means, always. If that meant using some of the Potter fortune to help finance this then he was hardly opposed to it, even if that was a bit backwards for most Daddies. Money meant nothing sitting in a vault.

              Still, the use of his family’s money made Harry twinge with guilt inside for what he might use it for. Even if James and Lily approved of him being gay—a big ‘if’, for things were different when it was one’s own child—they would likely never approve of what Harry wanted out of being gay.

              He wanted to give up control. Harry Potter was so sick to death of being in charge, being the one people looked to. When he’d led the resistance people died in horrible ways, all to protect him. Then even he himself died. Sometimes he wondered if he was ever meant to come back from the Forbidden Forest.

              It would have been enough to end the war—Neville or Hermione or Ron could have landed the final killing curse after the Horcrux within him was destroyed.

              But instead Harry had lived, and Harry had killed, and what was left of Tom Riddle was no more.

              Absurdly, Harry’s brain wondered what Riddle would make of all this. He couldn’t love, not after being conceived under the effects of a love potion, but he had been in Harry’s head for a long, long time—longer than he hadn’t been at this point still.

              Harry remembered how hard he’d tried to keep Riddle out of his mind for the resistance. He wondered if anything non-battle-related ever slipped through to him. Harry used to be able to feel his emotions, especially when he was angry, and in these long hours alone his curiosity got the better of him, compelling him to wonder—did Riddle know he was gay? Did he know how Harry had craved for an arrangement like this even as a schoolboy?

              He shook his head and tried to think about the living men who’d sent him interested inquiries, not the man he’d killed.

              In the end Harry wound up feeling too anxious about a lot of them, erasing them from his record. He told himself he’d need to message at least one, though, and it wasn’t a hard choice. His one was ‘D’, whoever he was. It was almost suspicious how too good to be true he was, honestly.

              Harry put his frozen pizza in the oven without taking it off of the cardboard that came in the packaging.

              Once the timer was set there was nothing to do but think again, which was never good for him. Harry looked towards the bedroom to see if there was any reply but the parchment remained still.

              Should he have replied to more men? Maybe more messages would come in later from other Dominants, but the first crop really only had the one gem in it.

              Harry walked back to the couch and turned the television on to some sitcom he didn’t recognize and turned down the volume so he could hear the buzz but not understand the jokes. The screen in front of him seemed to be showing a wacky day at the science fair for some hapless-but-loving family, something he couldn’t really relate to but that was for the best, anyway.

              His eyelids grew heavy and he was reminded of the weariness that came from his rotation of sleeping on the bed, the couch, and in the bathtub. The more he slept the more tired he was, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay awake for long, either.

              Stuck in a sort of comatose limbo Harry’s eyes were content to focus on the coffee table for the next twenty minutes as it reflected light from the television. His eyes were droopy, as if the bags beneath them were physically weighing him down.

              When he heard the knock at his door Harry nearly shot out of his skin. There was no way, could that be--?

              “It’s me, Harry!” Ron called, knocking again.

              Harry was both relieved and oddly disappointed. That wouldn’t make any sense at all, ‘D’ knowing where he lived, but for a moment he’d almost hoped he did. He rose to answer the door.

              “Ron,” Harry greeted him and put on a smile. He was happy to see his best mate, but smiles just didn’t come that easily anymore. They embraced with a tight hug, Ron giving Harry a few pats on the back.

              “Good to see you, mate. Really,” Ron told him, trying not to look too disappointed that Harry’s place was still a mess and his clothes likely hadn’t been changed in a few days. He wasn’t exactly a cleanfreak himself but he was learning to be one from living with Hermione. Worse though than Harry being a little ripe was that he was this way because of a lack of motivation to be anything else.

              Harry nodded, unaware of the war waging inside Ron’s skull of whether or not he should deliver some tough love to his friend clearly in need. “Good to see you to. Come in, I’m just making a pizza.” Harry waved him in, quickly grabbing the blankets off of the couch and tossing them onto the armchair so they’d have room to sit.

              “Whatcha watchin’?” Ron asked of the television. What funny devices.

              “Nothing,” Harry shrugged, and turned it off.

              Ron grimaced slightly at how apathetic Harry sounded. “So,” he tried. “How are things?”

              “Things are… things. I dunno. I’ve been really tired lately.” If ‘lately’ counted as the last couple of years, anyway.

              Dammit. Harry always said that. “Might want to see a Healer about that,” Ron suggested.

              “There’s nothing actually wrong with me,” Harry dismissed. “It’s all in my head.”

              “Yeah, mate, and that’s what worries me,” Ron came out and said flatly.

              Harry ignored the implications there and pushed ahead with conversational niceties. “How are you doing? How’s Hermione?” Harry rubbed the sleepiness from one eyes behind his glasses with the edge of his palm.

              “She’s good, we’re good,” Ron nodded, trying not to speak much about himself. He could tell it depressed Harry when he went on about his Auror duties. “How are you?”

              “You already asked that.”

              “Yeah, and you didn’t really answer,” Ron pointed out.

              Harry sighed.

              “Is it the nightmares again?”

              “It’s always the nightmares,” Harry grumbled, a bit too short in his response for his own liking. Ron was only trying to help. Harry tried again. “I’ve just been resting, trying to heal.” As he had been for a decade now.

              “Yeah,” Ron nodded, unsure of what else to say to that. “Mum’s been asking about you, about when you’ll visit again next.” The last time had been Christmas, and it was nearly May now.

              “Give her my best,” Harry said noncommittally. He loved Molly, but he wasn’t going to get anyone’s hopes up with false promises he’d be over there soon. Fred’s absence was palpable there even if it had been softened by the years. “How’s everyone?”

              “Percy’s Percy, always working and stuff. Charlie’s Charlie, happiest when he’s with the dragons. Bill and Fleur are saddled with the kids but it’s a good break for them, I think. George is running the shop with Angelina and they’re thinking of expanding to add a third location in Wizarding America,” he reported. Harry smiled at that, more than glad his seed money he’d put into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had done some good in the world. “And Ginny’s team is doing great if you’re keeping up with the Quidditch scores.”

              Harry was not keeping up with the Quidditch scores. Flying on a broomstick had been one of his favorite things upon first learning he was a wizard, but nothing hit like the first times did anymore. Being on a broom made Harry think of the Dementors and Death Eaters who’d chased him, the bastards who’d killed his beloved Hedwig. Fuck, did Harry ever miss her. “That’s good,” Harry offered weakly. Even if he did have the motivation to fly again there was nowhere to do it in this urban metropolis without being spotted.

              Ron frowned. “Harry,” he said.

              “Yeah?”

              “When was the last time you went out?”

              “Probably… last weekend, for groceries,” Harry recalled with a bit of shame. He didn’t like admitting these things to Ron; it made him feel small. The Great Harry Potter didn’t even like going outside anymore.

              “Harry…”

              “I know,” Harry replied sharply, too sharply. He gave Ron an apologetic look that seemed to be accepted. Harry let out a huff of air. “I just… I don’t know, really.”

              Ron scooted closer on the couch. “Hey, it’s okay. I just want to help. There’s a pub right down the street from here, you know. Maybe we could grab chips there sometime after you… er, shower.”

              “That bad?” Harry asked of himself, lifting an arm and finding that unfortunately true. “Ugh, sorry, I haven’t had much time…”

              “I thought all you had was time,” Ron replied with a frown. “I don’t say that to be cruel, you know. I give a shit about you, several shits, even. If you needed to come stay with me and Hermione, even if it’s just to have somebody around to remind you about stuff like that…”

              “Thanks, but no thanks,” Harry answered quickly, moving away from Ron. Could there be anything more mortifying than being offered a spot in their home out of pity? “And I’ve got a pizza in the oven, so no chips.”

              Ron nodded. “Okay, no chips.” He fell silent for a moment before speaking again, trying stretch that emotional range of a teaspoon to a tablespoon for his best friend’s sake. “You know, I looked up magic gay bars around here.”

              “You _what_?”

              “Not for me, obviously! For you, Harry. There’s one just a few blocks away called the ‘Velvet Lounge’ that serves wizards and muggles. Drinks, music, blokes—I think they even have drag shows,” Ron offered. It was hard to gauge what kind of nightlife activities might interest Harry when nothing seemed to interest him anymore, so he was throwing out as many ideas as he could.

              Harry, slightly bewildered to hear Ron Weasley talking about drag, looked at him dumbfounded for a moment. “I—that’s nice, I guess. I’ve never been. Look, I get what you’re trying to do and that’s really nice and all, but—“

              “But what?” Ron interjected because he knew Harry wouldn’t have a good answer to that.

              “But…” Harry looked around his flat. It had been much nicer when he’d moved in, much cleaner. It wasn’t the biggest he could have rented but he didn’t need large spaces when he’s live in a cupboard for most of his childhood. “I don’t know,” he gave in lamely. The oven timer went off. “Saved by the bell,” he joked darkly, getting up to go retrieve his food. “Want a slice?”

              “I’m good, thanks.” Ron stood and followed Harry to the kitchen, leaning on his countertop as Harry sliced the pizza. “Harry.”

              “Yes?”

              “Please, just talk to me. You know I’m always here for you, you have to know that after we went through a war together,” Ron pleaded. The desperation was evident, and made Harry twinge away. Ron was trying really hard, and it made Harry feel all the guiltier.

              Harry was the reason Fred was dead, after all. He was the reason Arthur got hurt, and Sirius died, and Remus died, and Tonks died leaving her baby an orphan—Harry caught himself spiraling. At least Teddy was with his Auntie Andromeda now that he’d given her Grimmauld Place. Harry couldn’t stand to be there without his godfathers.

              “Harry…?” Ron practically begged at his silence.

              “Sorry,” Harry said again. “My mind, it just… wanders. I can’t keep it in one place. I’m exhausted when I want to be awake and alert when I want to be asleep. You… you’re right about the shower thing. I’ll eat and go wash up,” he promised.

              That just made Ron’s frown deepen. “I’m not here to nag you, Harry.”

              “I know.”

              “I want to help you.”

              “I know—and you do. You and Hermione visiting, it’s good for me.”

              “Maybe if you lived with—“ Before Ron could pitch round two of his idea that Harry live in their guestroom his wand lit up red in his pocket. “Ah, fuck.”

              “Duty calls,” Harry responded flatly, glad for Ron’s presence but also glad that his boss sending for him spelt the end to this awkward conversation. Ron was an Auror now, and had responsibilities beyond his depressed, shut-in friend. Harry didn’t resent him for needing to run off, but the jealousy must have been clear on his face because Ron put a hand on his shoulder.

              Harry fretted at his eyebrows, wanting to pull the thin hairs there out but fighting the urge so Ron wouldn’t see.

              “Hey,” he said. “This conversation isn’t over. If being an Auror isn’t for you then something else has to be.”

              “Yeah, something else,” Harry nodded mutedly. What if he never found what he wanted to do? What if all he wanted was to be some rich man’s pet, because at least that would be some fun and excitement in his life compared to the dull reality he was in now? The only time he’d felt anything this week beyond the void of his usual emotions was writing to ‘D’. “Thanks for stopping by.”

              “I’ll be back,” Ron reminded him.

              “And I’ll be here.”

              Ron shook his head slightly, and the flashing of his wand tip grew brighter. “I’ve really go to—“

              “I know. It’s okay,” Harry nodded. “Be safe.”

              “Yeah, well… You too.”

              Smell and all, Ron gave his best mate another hug before giving a final nod and apparating away.

              Once he was gone Harry let out a heavy rush of air. Goddammit. What kind of incompetent was he, forgetting to even shower? He needed to brush his teeth, too—after the pizza.

              Harry ate in silence at the counter, wolfing down each slice faster and faster because holy shit, he was hungry and he hadn’t even known it.

              The walk to the shower felt like a walk to the gallows as it always did. Harry loved the hot water once he was under it, but there was something so trying about the walk there that spiked his anxiety. Getting a towel, a fresh change of clothes, it all made him so nervous. Harry Potter, who had faced death willingly, given a stomachache by picking out underwear. What a joke.

              What Harry thought would be a quick wash took longer than expected because yeah, he’d really needed to do this. He was going to anyway if he would be meeting with a man, preferably this ‘D’, but a more regularly cleaning schedule would benefit everyone involved. He’d tried alarms and schedules before, but in a few weeks they always fell to the wayside of Harry’s all-consuming urge to lay down and do absolutely nothing. It felt like being busy, doing all that nothing.

              Once clean Harry did feel better, as he always did, but it was hard for him to envision the results of an arduous process anymore. If relief wasn’t immediate then Harry’s interest was hard to pique. He toweled off, shaving his face clean again when he heard a strange noise from the other room.

              His heart leapt—the scroll case!

              With shaving cream still covering half of his chin Harry sprinted naked to his room, the fastest he’d moved to do anything in ages. “Yes!” Harry exclaimed to see the black device printing away. It sort of looked like a muggle printer, really.

              He ran up to the charmed scroll and lifted it, green eyes scanning each line with care once the message finished. ‘D’ had such fancy handwriting.

              _H—_

_I would love to tell you more. I will be twenty-eight in June, though people say I look a bit older. I have pale skin from my work taking place indoors, and silver eyes. I have scars across my chest from an injury in childhood. I work out, keep fit but don’t obsess over it. My health is important to me, as will be yours._

_As for my home, it is a large Manor with five floors. I am rebuilding it from scratch, having demolished most of the original building. It will have a three-story library, many parlors, and a basement to play in once I’m done. At the moment only the entrance hall, first parlor, kitchen, bathrooms, master bedroom, and a guest room are furnished. I would like to offer you that room, and allow you to do with it as you please. If you aren’t fond of the furniture I have in there now we can always go shopping for a change of style._

_It seems we share something in our high-profile images as well. I fear that giving you my first name will give away the rest of me, as I’m sure you do. I understand your need for trust, and discretion. I know it may not seem like much for how little you know me, but you have my word I will never betray you to the public. Having my name out there too would be a scandal I’m simply not interested in weathering._

_Rather than have you describe yourself further in return, I would like to request to meet you. It will be somewhere public, anywhere of your choosing. I will arrive first, and then you can see if you wish to continue this correspondence face-to-face. I’m afraid my identity will be given away by my face, so if you see me and are repulsed… I would understand. My reputation unfortunately precedes me everywhere I go._

_I would like for both of us to escape these social pressures together, if this sounds agreeable to you. My schedule is clear tomorrow, and I await your response with a location._

_\--D_

              Harry’s jaw hung open. He could meet ‘D’ as soon as tomorrow? And what exactly did he mean by his reputation preceding him? That was certainly the case with Harry, but who was this strange man who apparently also held fame? Was it a bad reputation? The message seemed to imply that.

              He had to sit down; this was too much to think about standing.

              It was a gamble to trust the word of a man he’d only exchanged a few paragraphs with, but ‘D’ had promised him discretion. Feeling all the more exposed from having read the letter naked, Harry went back to the bathroom so he could dress and return to stare at the message some more.

              This man’s voice in his writing seemed honest. Or maybe Harry was just hoping he was, projecting his desires onto the nearest blank slate of a man he could find. He was pale and blonde apparently, so it might be very easy to do that. ‘Repulsed’ didn’t sound right at all, either, why would he say that? The scars couldn’t be that bad. Harry did have one of his own to show off, proof of his identity. Fuck, this was scary.

              At least he had been thorough about how he also wanted the utmost privacy. Revealing his identity first—this ‘D’ really was doing Harry a favor.

              Harry swallowed. He had a choice to make. Even if Ron never understood his reasoning behind why Harry wanted to be a kept man, an owned submissive, Ron had to approve of him following this train of thought, right? Just about any train seemed like it would do for Auror Weasley, who had apparently been looking at ways to jumpstart Harry’s love life anyway.

              The Velvet Lounge, Ron had said. That was as good a place as any to start. With newfound determination Harry picked up his quill and began his reply.

              _D—_

_So it seems we’re of similar ages, then. That’s a good thing to me. Your offer is even better, almost too good to be true, but then you followed it up with an offer to meet. Tomorrow... Wow. I suppose I’m envious of how quickly you go after what you want. I was too nervous to ask, but perhaps that’s why we’re in these roles in the first place. I would love to meet you, and I appreciate you taking the first step. I think you’ll be surprised by who seeks you out, too. That’s all I’ll say for now, and hold you to that promise of secrecy._

_Meet me at the Velvet Lounge, downtown London, five o’clock. Sit at the bar, and I’ll come find you at five fifteen. I like fruity drinks, anything sweet. Let’s talk face-to-face. I want to see if you’re this suave in person, too. I have to admit I’ll be nervous and likely not my most articulate. Still, I look forward to seeing you, I really do._

_\--H_

              Harry sent the message. For a moment his mind was blank with panic.

              “I need to have an outfit for this!” Harry realized out loud, horrified. He ran to his closet to begin sorting through his limited stock. So what if he had the same blue shirt in three different sleeve lengths? That usually worked because he usually wasn’t asking Daddies for drinks in bars.

              Harry had to pull himself together. This was his first mission in a long time—gussy up like he’d actually been taking care of himself in his twenties. It wasn’t saving the world, and maybe that was the good thing about it. Harry nodded, got his sleekest pair of black pants, and set to work building himself up to go in public again.

*** *** ***

              _H—_

_Five o’clock sharp at the Velvet Lounge it is. I assure you my offer is in complete sincerity and honesty should we find each other’s terms agreeable. I do want you, which is why I went after you. I am pleased you can meet me at my speed; it bodes well for you. I will have drinks waiting for us, and consider anything else on the menu yours. Ask and you shall receive, H._

_You have my word on your safety both physically and publicly. I am greatly looking forward to seeing you. I feel a bit like a kid on Christmas Eve; I cannot wait to see my present._

_\--D_


	3. Lace, Dresses, and Silk Sheets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I wrote this on Father’s Day.

**Chapter 3: Lace, Dresses, and Silk Sheets**

 

              Harry’s final assessment in the mirror was that he certainly could be unwrapped and unraveled, but he wasn’t anybody’s present.

              He sighed, tugging on the hem of the shirt. It was a dark blue short sleeve button-down, and Harry had been warring for hours now on whether to tuck it into his black trousers or leave it out. Untucked he might look slovenly, and tucked he might look too formal. And what to do with his hair? It was always a bird’s nest, and sometimes combing it just made things worse somehow.

              In the end Harry gave up, untucking the shirt for good for after all that fretting over outfits and hairstyles, for he only had a half hour left until this fated meeting. He put on his best black trainers, since his dress shoes always made his toes hurt. Once his pockets had his wand, wallet, and keys packed safely away that was all he needed.

              The fear of what was to come could be excruciating in tense moments, but for the most part Harry was able to talk himself off the ledge. He was dressed, his breath smelled good, he was freshly shaved and showered, and he was going to meet a bloke at a bar. Even if nothing happened from here, or something disastrous happened from here, he’d still tried.

              Simply trying was always the first step, wasn’t it? His therapist had once said something like that.

              This was the change he wanted, the motivation do something entirely selfish and serving only his most wanton desires. That calling felt clear and true, and Harry needed to ride this wave of sensation to see where it went.

              Crossing the threshold between his front door and the world at large was breezy, and the threshold between the flat and the street while more difficult was over in a flash. Harry could do this, he could do this. The fresh air was on him again, and the sun on his skin without the filter of any window.

              Harry was having to face the fact that he didn’t know much about London, especially his current area of the city. His muggle phone was a lifesaver, guiding him in the right direction.

He’d grown up in Little Whinging, Surrey and Scotland his whole life. The war made him travel but beyond that, it seemed there was nowhere to go but Wizarding London. Progressive spellcasters of all sorts needed places to live after Hogwarts graduation, and the Ministry and St. Mungo’s were there to serve them.

              There were of course other Wizarding cities around the world but Harry looked quite foolish translating with his wand. America was never an option, and New Zealand and Australia were nice but ultimately unfamiliar. Harry decided to go with the one he knew, London, but apparently he didn’t know it that well at all. There was a mixed-crowd gay bar near his flat—go figure.

              After bouncing around from flat to flat thinking that was the problem for a few years of his early twenties, Harry had just given in and settled on the place he lived now. By then he’d tried to learn so many new neighborhoods he was exhausted, and the rejection from the Auror program still stung. Why be out on the streets at all if he’d get in trouble for protecting them?

              Harry had a therapist, dammit. He saw her once a month and was pretty honest with her most of the time. She was a kind medi-witch that would help him untangle some of this later without judgement, and she was always bringing up things from his past even Harry had forgotten about, having told her in sessions years ago. Getting a new therapist who knew him that well would be a hassle and a half.

That medi-witch residency at St Mungo’s was also why Harry was tethered here. Kingsley had wanted it, McGonagall had wanted it, and during the first years after the war their word was literally law. The courts were in disarray after so many Ministry workers were revealed to be Death Eaters, and until new ones were nominated some sweeping changes happened in-abscentium. Most were good, some not so much, and some not enough.

              There was this business about Harry being ‘the most powerful wizard of their age’ and how they so wished he could use that power to help, but that it was time for him to rest, because he was starting to worry them. Now they were all officially worried and Harry spoke to none of them save Hermione and the Weasleys, and the occasional letter to Neville and Luna.

              Hagrid and McGonagall tried to drop by in the summers still, and Harry let them, preparing for weeks in advance so he could put up a convincing front. It was insulting to see that look on their faces, the concern that his friends felt but also the fear, knowing they were in the presence of one of the most advanced magical users alive who was going screwy in the head ripping out his hair.

              There was a chime in his earbuds. He was here, at 5:13, and the outside had rainbow lights spelling out its name in big letters: VELVET LOUNGE. Harry swallowed. Bars and clubs weren’t his thing late at night, hence the meeting time, as at night the people on the dancefloor were packed in and indistinguishable, a sea of potential unknown threats. Harry didn’t do crowds much anymore.

              The windows were blacked out and that was a blessing. He entered to a low R&B song, something smooth. The dancefloors were mostly empty, another thing in his favor. Harry was taking in every factor, eyes darting to search for a bar. This place was big—he’d have to go deeper in. The lights were low, a pink glow set over him. Did that make his shirt look weird? No! Focus, focus Potter.

              Harry turned a corner to see velvet lounge seating as promised by the bar’s name, several plush booths of red and black. In the center was the four-way bar glowing with the colors of the rainbow that were clearly a spell but not so obvious that a muggle might catch sight of it.

              Magic could be so beautiful, and for a moment Harry felt like a bright-eyed Hogwarts student again as his eyes wandered.

              At the center of the bar as it faced Harry he spotted a man, a blonde man. A jolt ran up his spine. He stood up straight and his back cracked in several places to be set right after so much slouching. That certainly wasn’t an encouraging sound, but he shook it off.

              Yes, a blonde man in a black suit with two drinks in front of him, both pink with lemons and twirly-straws. All seats next to him were open this early in the lounge’s evening schedule, and Harry stared at the one where the other drink was placed—no purse or sign of ownership. Could this really be him?

              Repulsed, repulsed, why had ‘D’ said he’d be repulsed? The outfit looked expensive, bespoke, and the back of his head was handsome, Harry had to admit. He stared at the platinum hair, tracing it back and watching where it ending at the back of his neck.

              The back of his neck. That neck, why was it so familiar, so slender, so elegant? Why did it make Harry feel… faintly… angry?

              Harry froze.

              In the discussion of fight-or-flight there was a third option, often ignored option that Harry had come to know well of late: freeze. To become still, and cold, and silent. That was his life now, frozen in a stasis he’d stopped battling to break free of. He hadn’t fought in a long time. He’d dueled, he’d trained, but he’d not fought for himself or even anyone else like he used to.

              Harry’s cheeks flooded red, a physical force gripping his body to the spot and melting him down.

              D, the Manor, the same age, the discretion, the repulsion, the perfect bloody hair—Harry felt thicker than a rock. That made him even angrier, but this time at himself.

              Stuck between fight and freeze Harry stood for a long moment. Draco Lucius Malfoy as handsome as ever was at the bar, waiting for him. He watched him glance around nervously, for 5:15 must have passed. How long would he stay? Was this some kind of joke, a late prank?

              Harry licked his lips. He had to get to the bottom of this either way. Draco now knew a lot about him, but did he even know it was him? The Malfoy vault had enough money to bribe a kink magazine, but that didn’t seem right. The last time Harry had seen Draco Malfoy was the trials. He was embarrassed, and quiet, his bright personality completely cowed by the crowds of glares. He’d known he’d done wrong.

              More importantly and more surprisingly it even seemed Lucius knew what he’d done wrong, and how he’d taken his wife and child along for the ride. Harry had argued for them, and while it looked like it just pissed Draco off more, he did receive an apology and a thank you in a moment after the dust settled. That was all Harry had ever wanted.

              Harry didn’t read The Prophet but he unfortunately caught headlines when out shopping, and seen a few to do with Draco. There was great hubbub to him becoming a Healer, and threats against his parents. That seemed to be a repeating theme, every few years or so for the headlines—‘What is Draco Malfoy doing? Is he properly repentant? Is he partying? Is he _single_?’

              It was hilarious enough to make Harry laugh. Draco might actually be the only person around who understood how invasive those questions were, how performative the answers given had to be for your own safety and sanity.

              Oh, what the hell. Harry was perpetually bored, tired, sad, and listless—where had that Gryffindor bravery gone? Had the Sorting Hat got it wrong? Psyching himself up through self-antagonism seemed to be working, stoking that old anger he hadn’t touched in years.

Harry walked forward with his chin held high, prepared to get answers even if he didn’t like them. He sat down on the barstool where the pink drink was placed.

              “Well, hello, handsome, I am--!” Draco had begun in his best purr and ended up in pure shock, a clear glottal stop in his throat.

              “Hello, Draco,” Harry greeted him, now getting a better look at his face to confirm what he’d already known from the neck—this was his old rival. Age had done him well. He fit into that angular face a lot better now.

              “Potter,” Draco sputtered. “You, you’re… you can’t be.”

              “Don’t you think,” Harry said, hand trembling as he reached for his drink. He took the glass and brought the straw to his lips. Merlin, he was so scared, but so was Draco from how white he’d turned, and it seemed genuine. Had this truly been without scheme? Was this _really_ their reunion? There were a few ways to find out but now Harry’s blood was pumping again and he went with the most risky one because his plans were made to be foiled, as always. “You should be using my first name, after everything we’ve said? And no, before you ask, I didn’t plan this.”

              “You had to have planned this,” Draco immediately jumped on, further reassurance to Harry that he was actually surprised. “You—you entrapped me!“ Even as he said it Draco knew that wasn’t true, because what in the world would Harry Potter want to do with him? He had a fortune— _discretion far more important than your means_ —and maybe, yes, Draco had been picturing him a little bit off that physical description he’d given—Draco had a type and didn’t like to address why—but there was no way this could be possible.

              “I did no such thing, Draco,” Harry replied tiredly. “Why in the hell would I do that? Did you plan this?”

              “Did _I_ —of course I did not plan this! Why in the hell would _I_ do that?” Draco was speaking empathically but keeping his voice down. He had always been so expressive, and Harry’s last memory of him was as a stony-faced defendant on the stand. It had been so wrong, and it looked like that had been made right by how contorted Draco’s face was now. Draco blinked a few times. His eyelashes were so long. “I…” Draco’s mouth felt dry. He guzzled the pink drink and set it down clumsily. “You can’t tell anyone, Potter, you simply _cannot_.”

              “Do you think I want this getting out?” Harry replied in a laugh. “I have to make you swear the same thing, too, Draco.” Harry had been calling Draco by his first name in his head for a long time now in the agonizing years and therapy sessions he spent dissecting his youth—was he still ‘Potter’ to Draco? Maybe this was all in his head.

              Draco eyed him a spell longer. Draco had always found him stupidly attractive, but beneath his attraction he noted the bags beneath Harry’s eyes with some concern. He was thin, like the ad said, but on such close inspection he was bordering on unfed. Draco swallowed thickly. “I swear it, Harry. I already swore it in the letter but I will never reveal the contents of any of these interactions to any outside party.”

              Harry smiled because Draco had called him by his first name, and it sounded just like he remembered. So much had changed about Draco and yet so much remained the same. “And I swear it as well,” he nodded. With nothing left to do he finished off his drink through the straw. It was fruity and had a tang of citrus.

              “Pink Lemon Drop. Do you want another one?” Draco asked upon cocked brow. What he meant to say was ‘are you still interested’ as a joke, because of course Harry wasn’t interested, how could he ever be?

              “Yes,” Harry replied, pushing the empty glass forward to alert the bartender. Draco looked surprised before, and the surprise only deepened now. Good. That was always part of their dance, to keep each other guessing. They hadn’t spoken like this since they were teenagers, and Harry was out of practice but still ready to spar with words as they always had. “If you’re such a man of your word then you will surely uphold your offer for bottomless drinks.”

              Draco’s mouth opened in shock, and closed quickly. Was Potter—Harry—playing with him like they had in the schoolyard? Draco had always been too mean in his play, but it was hard expressing things back then. “Another round,” Draco ordered the bartender and put down coins. This confused, aristocratic man in black turned on his barstool to stare at Harry as if deciphering a puzzle. “You know how I loathe to say this, but you are right,” Draco admitted. What sort of suave man in control of the situation and yelped like he had earlier? “I have been an absolute disgrace of a host thus far. My charm school tutors would be devastated. Would you allow me the chance to earn my honor back? You Gryffindors like that, don’t you?”

              An unflattering snort left Harry and he turned the shade of his House. “I would allow it,” Harry permitted through a rising pulse. Their drinks were delivered and Harry jumped on his, sucking down quite a bit.

              “Excellent. Well, I suppose this works, I don’t have to fill you in on quite a bit that I have to explain to… potentials,” Draco chose that word carefully to see how Harry would react to it. Those green eyes flicked up to his and Draco’s breath was thin. They were more beautiful than his memory had ever done justice on, it seemed. They were tired, and low, but framed in those glasses and all that thick dark hair Harry Potter was a face that Draco did not at all mind beholding.

              “I’m sorry,” Harry said first because it had been trapped in the back of his throat this whole time. It was always trapped in his mouth when he was around other survivors of the war. “About what happened in the Prefect’s bathroom—“

              “I know,” Draco lifted his hand, a twinge of annoyance like it wasn’t necessary and softening out of it. Harry hadn’t thought about how it would scar. “And I am grateful for your role in getting me out of Fiendfyre and Azkaban alike, my family included.” He rehearsed the timeline a lot in therapy and could at least speak about it now. That had been one of his first goals, to be able to speak about it without crying or breaking down.

              “And,” Draco went on and gripped his drink tighter. “I am sorry for giving you hell in school. After that… I wanted no part in it.”

              “I know,” Harry nodded. He turned in slightly on the barstool so he could keep scanning Draco’s face, trying to memorize it all over again. There were those shrewd silver eyes, and then there was that big nose of his, something Harry now reacquainted with found disturbingly charming. “We had this conversation some years ago, but I’m glad we can have it again. I disagree with you on one point, though,” Harry switched up on the other man, seeing how he handled the repartee. “You do still have to fill me in on just about everything after that day. You’re a Healer now.”

              “That I am.” Draco allowed himself to smile. Of course Harry had to have heard by now. “It took a lot of work to get there, too. Some entire days are spent lancing boils and things far worse than I will mention over drinks, but now that I know it’s right I could never do anything else,” Draco nodded. He complained about his job because he complained about everything, so the primary thing he liked to impress upon people was that he loved it, first and foremost. Draco was not given the luxury of public complaint in his position. “It’s right for me, and it’s certainly right for the patients. Even if they don’t really care for their Healer, he gets the job done."

              Harry was absolutely floored. Who the fuck was this man sitting next to him? Talking like he was in therapy, loving his job—this was the ‘D’ he’d spoken to, wasn’t it? The man who Draco had become, was this him? “That’s—that’s incredible, Draco. It’s great that you have that.” Harry tried not to show too much astonishment lest Draco think it because of his skill. Draco was always an advanced magic student, though he blew up when Harry or Hermione pulled ahead of him.

              Draco and Harry had both been so explosive in their anger back then. Harry’s had been buried away with time, and he was still looking to see where Draco’s went.

              “Hmm, what else? Well, there is the matter of the Manor. I demolished almost all of it and built from the ground-up anew as I described in my letters. I do it on my own what with my parents being far—don’t mistake that for ingratitude, distance makes the heart grow fonder in the case of my family sometimes.” Harry laughed, and Draco beamed. He found him funny, huh?

              “Can I ask if they know?” Harry followed up at the mention of Lucius and Narcissa.

              “’Know’ as in know I’m gay or ‘know’ as in know I’m putting our ancient family’s ‘honorable’ name at risk of further humiliation by doing something impulsive and scandalous?” Draco volleyed back.

              “Alright, so the second is a no,” Harry parried. “But the first.”

              “They do know. They have always known, in their way. I told them after the war that I wouldn’t be taking a wife and might hopefully someday take a husband, and they adjusted expectations. Mother dealt with it best, of course, but father got there with her help, too. Do your friends know?”

              “Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I told them a little after the war, after I broke up with Ginny as to why we wouldn’t be dating again. They try their best to be supportive and I don’t—I don’t have any other family to speak of.” He finished his second drink. “We’ve both kept it out of the papers, though. That’s impressive—I know how hard those vultures are to shake.”

              Draco preened a bit at Harry Potter being impressed by his subterfuge. This was certainly a nice feeling in contrast to their first meeting in that robe shop. Harry’s full attention was on Draco now, and they were both more filled in as adults. “I have my ways,” he cast in an attempt to be mysterious. “Now, what have you been doing since we last parted?” Draco watched as Harry’s face fell a little and hoped this wasn’t too much.

              “I tried to be an Auror,” Harry said plainly, staring at his empty glass. A third would be getting him a little too inebriated so he backed off for now. “Didn’t pan out. I was a ‘liability’ and failed all forms of risk assessment. First fail in my life, you know. I did alright for myself in Hogwarts.”

              “You did,” Draco recalled. “I fumed for weeks when you got into the Slug Club and neither Theo nor I did.”

              “Heh, maybe someday I’ll tell you _my_ ways.” It really had just been cheating with Severus’ book, but it had done wonders for his test scores. With a frown forming deeper on Harry’s face he searched for a way to sum these past ten years up. “After that I… I just kind of tried to live.” A weak summary, but an answer nonetheless. He didn’t know what else to say.

              Draco sensed that Harry wanted to drop it. Harry had said he wanted a change in his life in his writing, and that was enough to clue Draco in on his current levels of happiness. “What about dating?” Draco changed the subject. “Did you ever see anyone long-term?”

              “No, it never got that far. Just a couple nights or a couple weekends at most.” Harry was blushing again. “It got overwhelming a lot of the time, the press speculation and the people themselves—their expectations of how they thought I was before meeting me. I hate it when they put me on a pedestal.”

              “A pity, I think you’d look quite pretty on a pedestal,” Draco snarked. A wicked smile came to the corner of Draco’s lips. He hadn’t known Harry disliked the fame to this extent.

              “What about you? You date much?” Harry followed up, shying slightly under Draco’s gaze when it turned hungry. Had he really just called him pretty? “I imagine you do.”

              “And what exactly are you implying there, hm?” Draco teased but moved on. “Where your problem is hero worship I have the exact inverse,” Draco reminded him flatly. “But sometimes I find someone of a greyer morality and we last a few months.” Draco cleared his throat. “You imagine me, hm? And how often does that happen?” he continued the teasing. “Though I’m no stranger to dates, this is my first time contacting someone through Safeword.”

              “Me too,” Harry replied fast, excited that they had that in common. “You’re the only one I replied to.”

              “I assume you got a small mountain of messages?”

              “Yeah,” Harry laughed as he remembered himself stewing in his room over this. It seemed a world away in this colorful bar. Here in this larger-than-life space he was having a more-than-civil conversation with Draco Malfoy, maybe even a flirtatious one. “A lot of them didn’t even sound like they read my words, but I knew you did.” Harry pivoted further to face him. “Draco?”

              “Yes, Harry?” he replied, breathless. Why was it so hot in here when nobody was even on the dancefloor?

              “When did you know you wanted to be a Dominant?” Harry asked in his smallest voice. He was curious but cautious.

              Draco licked his lips and considered the question. “I always knew I wanted to be in control, in charge. I think you saw me at my worst in that respect.” Draco couldn’t deny he’d always desired power over Harry especially, and was indeed worse in severity the closer Harry was in earshot for many years. “And then,” Draco pressed on even though his heart was beating faster at the thought of admitting this. “You saw me lose it. All of it. I had no say in what I was to do with my life once it was forfeit to The Dark Lord.” Draco swallowed and when he next spoke his tone was brighter. “I know I’ve done the messy business of apologizing, but have I ever thanked you?”

              “Huh?” Harry asked, caught off-guard.

              “If you had lost, my life would look a lot different right now. I’d be forcibly married to some woman I despised, and we’d be under constant pressure to have children to fuel the ‘new world order’. I’d be working at the Ministry or somewhere equally loathsome, watching sad little men find new ways to torture muggles with magic.” Draco realized how morbid that all was and blinked, trying to figure out how he got here in his rambling. “But, hey, it’s not like you ended the war to save me. Being a Dominant, sorry…“ Draco adjusted his suit jacket.

              Harry tried to imagine Draco with a wife and children and almost laughed aloud at the thought. “You’re welcome,” Harry said, smiling even though it was such a dark thing to find funny because it would have clearly made him miserable.

              Draco gave him a wry look. “Yes, well, do try not to die again over it. Anyway, where was I…? Yes, being a Dominant. I had always had fantasies. Dreams, waking and sleeping.” He’d had more than a few about Harry when they were both teenagers and the urge to touch himself had been incontrollable some days. All of those hormone-riddled Slytherin kids in one dorm, what were the Hogwarts founders thinking? “Acting on them when I found myself with a willing partner had me hooked, though. I started attending BDSM parties, and getting into the literature on it.”

              “Like the magazine,” Harry said. He didn’t even know such parties existed outside of fiction with how limited his social life had been as an adult.

              “Yes, I’ve been subscribed for their erotic story section and photography for some time now,” Draco nodded fondly, now knowing that Harry saw the same things and had approved enough to place an ad in Safeword. Draco perversely wondered what he thought of the issue it had been published in, the Shibari Rope special. Had he seen the foldout of the man bound to a mattress? “It’s not so different from being a Healer, really. I have to use my Dom voice with patients all the time when they get fussy.”

              Harry laughed at that, one of many bright laughs to escape him this evening. Maybe it was just the drinks, but it felt easy to laugh right now. “Really? I wouldn’t have expected that. I suppose you are providing care and what’s best for them, even if they don’t always like it.”

              “Exactly,” Draco chirped. “People usually know what they want, but not what they need or how to get there. That, and there’s something achingly beautiful about a man in pain because he’s chosen to be for a purpose, don’t you think?” Draco watched Harry swallow thickly with some pride. “Now, it is only fair I ask you in return of your role,” he happily flipped on Harry.

              The man squirmed on his barstool. “Well,” Harry started. “I fantasized, too. I was too young to understand why I wanted certain things, but as I got older I got the language to describe it. I like it, the idea of someone who I trust completely making decisions for me sometimes. Knowing exactly what to do is nice, too. Sometimes I feel like the fact that I have all the options in the world just paralyzes me more.”

              Draco leaned his head in closer as he listened, unaware that he was doing so.

              “I was never taught what sex was,” Harry laughed sharply because saying that out loud made him feel pathetic. “I mean, they didn’t teach it at Hogwarts and my Aunt and Uncle refused to tell me anything. I had to get tidbits from everyone else and try to put together this picture for myself.” Harry’s hands fidgeted. They wanted to go up to his hair and tug, but he fought the urge. “And I know what it is now, obviously,” he followed up quickly.

              “Of course,” Draco nodded, keeping in little snickers about how red Harry’s face had turned again.

              “Well, summer between fourth and fifth year I was really sick of being out of the loop. I snuck into the adult attic section of a bookstore I had to take two buses to get to. I spent three hours alone up there before the shopkeep found me and tossed me out, but that was more than enough time to read. They didn’t have much gay stuff, but they had a lot, and I mean _a lot_ of book covers with women in lingerie tied to beds and I, uh.” Two drinks and Harry was already telling this story? He’d never told this to anyone, and had thought it would remain that way forever. “I looked at them for a long time. I was fascinated, because I was starting to gather that I wasn’t attracted to women, so why these covers? The, uh, content was pretty nice, too.”

              Draco Malfoy could hardly believe his ears. Was Harry Potter really here sitting next to him at this bar waxing poetic about his sexual awakening? He didn’t dare interrupt him, wanting to hear every gory detail.

              “They were so pretty I couldn’t look away. Lace, and dresses, and silk sheets… It bothered me for a long time until I realized I didn’t want to be _with_ those women,” Harry recalled. “I wanted to be them.” He looked away from Draco as he said this, deeply embarrassed but for some reason still going. It wasn’t like he could talk to his therapist about this, or his friends, or anyone, really, and saying it out loud was becoming addictive. It was thrilling finally voicing this the unsung ballad of Harry Potter’s Submission. Harry worried this high in what had been years of lows would be cut off if he stopped talking, so he kept going. “And I wanted to be with the men they were with, these idealized, caring men who showered them in clothes and exotic dates and… punishments.”

              “You wanted a Daddy,” Draco replied knowingly. “A true one.”

              Harry’s eyes flicked back up to Draco’s. He certainly looked the part in that black suit, almost like the sort he’d worn through sixth year. Fuck, Harry had been so distracted by that. “Yes,” he said in a near-whisper as he turned his face away again. “One who’s fair, but firm.”

              “Kind and cruel,” Draco recalled of Harry’s ad. The alcohol was warm in his stomach. “’Seeking empathy and torture.’”

              “Yes,” he fully whispered this time, almost too quietly to be heard over the music.

              “Harry?”

              “Yes?” Harry looked back up to Draco expectantly, immediately internally rebuking himself for looking so dopey.

              Harry’s eyes all wet and wide like this did something to Draco. This man, if he didn’t have their history, then Draco would be falling over himself right now because he was bloody perfect. Submissive, sharp, raw and unaffected—this was what Draco had been looking for.

              But it was Harry, Harry fucking Potter, who would never want him like that.

              The two drinks came in handy when attempting something he was sure to end in failure, and so Draco Malfoy proceeded to say something very stupid. “We’ve come to a point where I must admit something. You are an attractive man, and if you keep speaking so wantonly in want of a guiding hand I might get ideas.” Foolish ideas, like to make a move on The Boy Who Lived because he sure as shit wasn’t lying when he said Harry would look pretty on a pedestal.

              Harry gaped. “You think I’m attractive?”

              Draco had not been expecting that response. He’d been expecting a drink thrown at him, or maybe the whole glass and a few hexes for good measure. “What? Well, of course I think you’re attractive. How bad is your eyesight, exactly? Have you ever seen yourself in a mirror, or…?”

              A barked laugh left Harry’s throat, leaving him even more embarrassed than his current level of flustered. “I mean, wow, I just… I just never thought that you could think of me like that,” he replied sheepishly. Oh, Merlin, was he fucking this up? Draco was giving him an opportunity and he was fucking it up.

              “So you’re not just blind, you’re oblivious, too,” Draco observed with a strange fondness to his tone. “You’re a funny one.”

              Harry’s heart pounded. Was being a ‘funny one’ a good thing? Draco couldn’t be pulling his leg at this point, he couldn’t be—this was a huge level of commitment for a joke, and it was the kind Draco now seemed too mature to pull. There were many statements competing to leave Harry’s mouth but he started out with a simple one. “I’ve always thought that about you. That you were, and are… _really_ gorgeous.” It was almost painful looking at his beauty sometimes, and he’d spent an awful long time looking at it when stalking Draco through the castle.

              Fuck. Not just handsome, or attractive, but _really gorgeous_. Was Harry trying to kill him? Draco couldn’t breathe when he talked like that. “Well, thank you.” Draco knew that on an intellectual level he was handsome, but hearing it from Harry Potter’s two pink lips was a different thing altogether. Would those lips still taste like pink lemonade if Draco leaned in to check? “You’re giving me ideas, Harry, I mean it,” Draco warned again, this time more tenuously.

              “Maybe I want to give you ideas,” Harry replied instinctually, giving himself no time to think of whether it was wise or not.

              The corners of Draco’s lips tugged up. “You’re foxed,” he decided. Harry was likely a lightweight from lack of experience and his size.

              “No, I’m not,” Harry said, voice steadier than it had been before for all the effort he put forth. “Ask me again in two hours if you don’t believe me.”

              “Ha. And what will we be doing for the next two hours, then?” Draco joked rhetorically, his defensive humor coming from utter disbelief that this wasn’t a dream. There was no way Harry Potter was asking for what he thought he was asking for.

              That smug, full-of-himself look on Draco’s face made Harry’s passion flare, now knowing it wasn’t just anger he felt when he looked at Draco’s neck. It was fire reignited from proximity to this prissy, beautiful bastard. “Aren’t you meant to be the one that’s supposed to choose that? Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?” Harry teased, getting immense satisfaction from seeing Draco’s face go deep with blush this time.

              “You can’t mean that.” Draco shook his head, leaning back. “I have been listening—you want someone you _trust_.”

              “I trust you’re being honest with me right now,” Harry pushed on. “That’s a start. I think I can trust you with two hours out on the town from how you always said I could say ‘no’ in your letters.” Also, from those parties that Draco had mentioned earlier it sure seemed he had the better grip on nightlife of the two of them. Harry’s curiosity was piqued.

              Draco nodded, the ideas Harry had given him now given free rein to run wild. “You can always say no with me, I meant that. Or better yet—have you given any thought to what you would like to have your safeword be?” Draco inquired. “If you are really doing this, I always leave it to my submissive to choose.”

              A shiver ran up Harry’s spine to hear Draco call him that. _His_ submissive, what a mad and brilliant thought. “I haven’t thought about it much,” Harry admitted, biting his lower lip as he considered it. “How about… Snitch?”

              “That works perfectly,” Draco said, feeling oddly proud that he’d gotten that out of Harry. “And when do my two hours start?”

              Harry pulled out his phone and showed Draco the screen: 6:13. “Right now,” he served up as his final challenge to Draco.

              “Then we haven’t a moment to waste.” Draco stood and straightened his collar, offering an arm for Harry to grab onto. “Shall we?”


	4. Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two so goddamn much. I swear I’m gonna be writing Drarry fanfic in my crone years.

**Chapter 4: Bliss**

 

              Taken aback by the gentlemanly gesture, Harry had a moment of panic where he didn’t quite know what to do with his arm to make sure it fit in Draco’s. After some inexperienced fumbling Harry looped them together, his other hand coming to rest on his arm. He hadn’t been this close to another man in far too long, he could tell, because just the scent of Draco’s cologne made his knees wobbly enough to almost fall over. Thankfully, Draco had a strong grip.

              “I know this area from passing through and have a destination in mind,” Draco said as he led Harry from the club. The shorter man smelled like soap, and it made Draco’s mouth water to be reminded just how much taller than Harry he was. “But not well enough to have located a magical tailor I approve of. We’re just going to have to go with the first suitable we find,” he shrugged.

              “You get your clothes tailored?”

              “You don’t?” Draco replied, eyes widening before realizing how much sense it made. “Well, yes, I can see you don’t.”

              “Hey!” Harry nudged his elbow against Draco’s ribs.

              “What? I’m simply stating facts,” Draco chuckled as they stepped into the street, the sky above them dark pink with the setting sun’s glow. “Now, if we had free reign of apparation I would take you to my usual place in Diagon Alley—she works wonders.”

              “And why can’t we apparate?” Harry asked quietly.

              Draco stopped walking. He stared Harry right in those beautiful green eyes of his and spoke as seriously as he ever had. “I am a Healer, Harry, in a hospital with an entire wing dedicated to apparation injuries. Most of the stories I hear, once we put the patients back together again, involve alcohol directly before apparition.” It was a rare enough risk that most competent wizards did apparate whilst under the influence, but Draco had seen the one percent and heard their moans of pain firsthand.

              “Huh,” Harry said as they began to walk again. “I use the Floo to get most places, and I’d almost forgotten about all that.”

              “Yes, I am a killjoy now thanks to my profession and a delight at parties when everyone is heading home,” Draco confirmed. “But I am a great ally to have when sick. I make housecalls for those deserving, and am known to make a mean beef stew. Warms you right up from the inside.”

              “You cook?” Harry asked, smiling at the thought of Draco tending to him on his couch with a pot on the oven. It would sure be a sight, his old rival blowing on his soup spoon and taking his temperature. Whenever he got sick now he just isolated further to chug his potions.

              Draco snorted. “Of course I cook, Harry, I’m a grown adult man who lives on my own. You’ll be happy to know I also insisted my parents learn to cook without the aid of house elves in France as well.”

              Now that was news. “Really? Lucius Malfoy, flipping his own pancakes?” Harry marveled. He’d thought about the Malfoys before, but never pictured them doing anything mundane like that.

              “He prefers waffles,” Draco chuckled fondly. They stopped at a crossing, waiting for the walk sign. “My mother has taken to baking, and sends me treats whenever she can.”

              “That’s great, Draco,” Harry said, staring at him so intently that he almost missed the walk signal turning on. He thought he would get used to holding Draco’s arm after prolonged contact but he was still all tingly and feeling dangerously swishy.

              Draco led Harry along, slowing when he needed to and when conversation demanded more eye contact. He had seen some clothing stores already but none fit his high standards as of yet. “I won’t lie to you, they slip up and say prejudiced things sometimes. They’re far from perfect, but they do try.” Draco checked his watch. Ugh, way too much time talking about his parents when he was supposed to be showing Harry a ‘night on the town’.

              The next muggle clothing store would have to be good enough.

              “Here,” Draco said, glad to see the shop was still open for another hour on its placard. “What you have on is just fine, don’t take it as a jab, but where we’re going you’ll need to be dressed _much_ fancier.”

              Harry raised a brow. He had been the one who insisted Draco chose their course of action. Was he picking a muggle shop to prove something to Harry? “Alright, then. Lead on.”

              The chime of the shop door welcomed them into a warmly-lit boutique, upscale but not uninviting some of the way Draco’s favorite stores looked. This would have to do. The refined older gentleman behind the counter greeted them and was about to ask if they needed anything when Draco told him just what they needed. “I’d like his measurements done and written on a card, two dressing rooms, and here is my card.” Draco put down his muggle Black Card with several diamonds on it.

              The gentleman could tell when he walked in the kind of money the blonde possessed, but the proof was nice, too. “Right this way, Sirs,” he guided them towards the back of the shop.

              “Cooking, Healing, and a credit card?” Harry whispered to Draco as they were led through racks of expensive clothing. “Next you’re going to tell me you have a mobile.”

              Draco rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile. “I do not have a mobile, you prat,” he replied with a glare that wasn’t half as cutting as he wanted it to be.

              “Right this way, Sir,” the gentleman called Harry forth as they reached the chamber before the dressing rooms. He unwrapped his arm from Draco’s and stepped forward.

              The man unfurled a measuring tape and began. Draco tried his best not to look impatient. This was _so_ much faster with magic. At least the prolonged stillness gave Draco a chance to look Harry over completely in better lighting. Yes, when those measuring tapes went tight there seemed to be quite a pretty little body under those baggy clothes.

              Draco kept his eyes on Harry through the whole process, and Harry snuck glances between measurements. He knew he was being assessed, he wasn’t that naïve, but he also took comfort in the fact that Draco was watching over him. Muggles were less of a trigger on Harry’s anxiety for they needed a weapon to kill, but wizards had the killing blow on them at all times—a loaded gun that also did laundry.

              A gun was the only muggle way Harry could really equate it, but truly wizards feared no guns. Protection spells, redirection spells, and more kept bullets away. No, a wand was unimaginably more dangerous, capable of bringing death by water, fire, madness, or the simple six-syllable killing curse.

              Harry thought of his own wand in his pocket, and wondered if the man taking his measurements thought anything of it.

              “Foot, please,” the man requested, removing Harry’s shoe so he could take measurements there, too.

              “Oh, not many shoes fit me well,” Harry warned, snapping out of the doom and gloom haze. His feet ached all the time, and having his shoe removed had reminded him of that. Flat arches and mangled toes from stuffing them into Dudley’s old trainers as a kid had taken a toll.

              Draco saw Harry slip away at some point during the measuring, but was glad to see him come back when he spoke up about the shoes. “We will find shoes that fit you,” Draco promised him. If not here then at least in magic boutiques later on—was there a later on? Draco was trying not to think about how he was technically on a trial run right now. “And a suit that suits you.”

              “Okay, so the place we’re going is suit-level fancy,” Harry surmised with a slow nod. “A restaurant?”

              “Better than a restaurant,” Draco said and elaborated no further. “Now, what’s your favorite color? And don’t you dare say red, because I know it’s not.”

              “How would you know that?” Harry scoffed.

              “Am I wrong?”

              “…No.”

              The man finished the measurements and handed the sizing card to Draco. “I can have whatever you wish brought back here in this size. It’s all up here now,” he indicated a wrinkled temple.

              “Excellent,” Draco replied cheerily before turning back to Harry. “Now, Harry, what is your favorite color?”

              Harry swallowed. He was put on the spot now. “I guess I’ve always liked shades of purple. Lavender, especially,” he answered truthfully.

              A slow, steady smile pulled Draco’s lips upwards. “Excellent,” Draco said and this time it had a deeper, lower timber. He looked again to the man attending them. “I’d like to see your collection of silk button-downs in lighter cool colors, and the middle jacket in the window. For the trousers we’ll need black, darker than the ones he has on and these should actually fit him.”

              “Harsh,” Harry snorted. Given a task Draco was really animated, now, speaking with his hands and giving every emotion away on his face. Yes, this was the Draco Malfoy he’d seen recounting grandiose stories at the Slytherin table in their early years, indicating the size and ferocity of the creatures he described with great pomp.

              “Shoes…” Draco took a moment to think and tap his pointed chin. “Black Oxfords, silk socks. While you fetch that and escort him to his dressing room, my good man, I’ll shop for myself because I need a change of clothes as well.” And Draco didn’t trust anyone but himself with his appearance.

              Damn, Draco was efficient. He really wasn’t messing around when it came to making these two hours count. Harry wondered if he should speak up about this not needing to fit in the timeframe after all, but in the end he was too curious to see how Draco was going to play the rest of this to remove the restriction.

              Harry stepped into a large, sealed dressing room two walls of mirror and a curtained slot for clothing to be passed through. He realized once the door shut behind him that he was meant to disrobe, because that was what people did in dressing rooms, and shifted nervously. Harry decided he would wait until some replacement clothes were passed in.

              In the meantime there wasn’t much to do, so he pulled out his phone to check it. 6:30 on the dot, 8:13 looming in the distance.

              When let loose upon the racks of the store Draco hardly even noticed the gentleman collecting the pieces he’d requested to bring back to Harry. Draco was on the hunt for pieces that spoke to him, and he was being timed here, so he couldn’t take any longer than Harry took to pick a shirt and change.

              Draco gave himself options, gathering up lots of shirts and trousers himself since he knew his size well, and what cuts looked best on him.

              By the time Draco returned to the dressing rooms with his selections, Harry was being handed his through the slot. “Let me know if you need assistance,” Draco offered even though it likely wasn’t necessary. He just wanted to remind Harry from the dressing room next door that he was still very much here and with him.

              “Thanks,” Harry said to the wall. He turned over the clothes in his hands and let out a small gasp when he got to the suit jacket that Draco had picked out for him. The material was the softest of satin held together with strong thread, the worth of the materials speaking for themselves in how well-constructed the garment was. The body of it was a dark blue lined with black on the inside, but what really caught his attention was the outside.

              The jacket’s deep blue was accented by the lavender and light pink markings that looked like brush strokes and paint daubs spread over the navy canvas. It was a loud print, and not at all the sort of thing Harry would have picked out for himself, but it included his favorite color in a way he’d never seen before. The pink was nice, too, offsetting the cool palette well.

              “They didn’t have anything fully lavender,” Draco said from beyond the wall between them. He was busy trying on a variety of jackets with the black silken button down he’d selected out of his pile of many options. “So I did my best.”

              “This is really nice,” Harry said as he began to disrobe, excited to see how he’d look in this now.

              “Glad you like it. The pink isn’t too much?”

              “No, I like pink too,” Harry confirmed without shame for the first time. He dropped his shirt to the floor and began trying on the silk ones Draco had selected, settling on a light purple one that was somewhere in between the shades of the lavender and rose on the jacket. “Wow, this fit is snug.”

              “Unused to wearing something that’s actually your size?” Draco taunted.

              Harry rolled his eyes but then realized Draco couldn’t see that. “My size fluctuated a lot after the war. I tried to gain the weight back but it didn’t really work.” Harry sure hoped that muggle shopkeeper had left the area so he wouldn’t hear this. When Harry said ‘the war’ in front of muggles they thanked him for his service in Afghanistan, and he couldn’t exactly correct them without breaching the Statute of Secrecy. “I haven’t shopped for new clothes in… a long while.”

              “Then we’ll have to change that,” Draco insisted, stepping into trousers that matched his jacket in print. Yes, this was starting to look like an outfit. “Even generations ago your family was always considered New Money. Let the Old Money show you how to spend it properly.”

              “About that,” Harry said, beginning to navigate his own way into the slim black trousers he’d been given. “I can pay for things, too. I know that’s not exactly part of the fantasy but I don’t want the financial burden to be entirely on you.”

              “Burden? Don’t make me laugh,” Draco said and did indeed laugh. “I make money simply by existing thanks to the investments my ancestors made. Properties, Ministry bonds, and the interest on our Vault nets me an endless stream. Not to mention my salary. The costs of rebuilding and refurbishing the Manor is covered almost entirely by my work as a Healer. Worried about the Malfoy fortune all of a sudden, are we?” Draco teased lightly.

              Harry huffed. “No, I just… ah, nevermind.”

              Harry zipped up the trousers and looked at himself in the mirror. The way these hugged his hips made him look like an entirely different man than before, and he felt like one, too. He straightened his slouched back so that the silk shirt would be pressed to his skin without wrinkles. Now for the moment of truth.

              Taking up the piece of art that was this jacket he’d been given—courtesy of the Malfoy fortune, apparently—was a moment of quiet awe. Harry worried he wouldn’t be enough to pull this look off, or that he would look like a child trying on adult clothes for fun as he sometimes thought he did. He turned away from the mirror so he could look at himself only after all the adjustments.

              Harry slipped his arms into the jacket and as it came up over his shoulders it fit like a glove. He looked down at himself after straightening it out, fiddling with the jacket buttons a bit before deciding to close the top two.

              He turned around and hoped for the best.

              “How’s everything fitting?” Draco inquired as he looped on a belt with an ornate golden buckle.

              Harry could hardly believe what he was seeing in the mirror. This man was refined, and intriguing, and somehow it was still him. He turned in the mirror, admiring the brush strokes on the back of his jacket. “It’s… beautiful,” Harry said but felt the word ‘beautiful’ came up short. “It’s, I mean, I would have _never_ selected it myself but that’s my own small thinking, I think. This is spiffing.” ‘Spiffing’ wasn’t much better either but Harry was trying.

              In his dressing room Draco paused in his trying on of clothes, hands coming to rest over his heart. “Spiffing, eh?” Draco grinned. “Well, I can hardly wait to see it.” He finished buttoning his jacket. “Be sure to put on the shoes and socks, too, and then I’ll show you what I’ve picked out.”

              “Yeah,” Harry nodded, setting to putting those on next.

              Draco emerged first from the dressing rooms to the little parlor that led to them. He was confident he looked damn good, but he was anxious to see Harry’s reaction nonetheless. For himself Draco had gone with a classic look, green jacket and pants on a black shirt. The jacket and trousers were of a matching emerald sheen, almost blue in some lights. He’d gone with a bold black and white shoe, shined to the nines.

              “Come out whenever you’re ready,” Draco said, adjusting his belt buckle and fixing his hair.

              It took Harry a long moment before he was even ready to consider coming out. He looked himself over one last time in the mirror before turning on his heel to the door. Unlatching it, he stepped out with eyes cast low.

              The first thing Harry saw was a pair of black and white dress shoes that made him smile. Shoes had never really made him smile before, but knowing it was Draco Malfoy wearing such trendy spats tickled him in an unexpected way. Things only got better as he looked up. Draco was a dream in green, harkening back to the house color of his youth to make him look all the more powerful and imposing.

              It was a good thing Harry seemed to be focusing on Draco’s clothes—and smiling, Merlin how handsome he looked when he smiled—because Draco’s jaw had almost dropped to the floor upon seeing Harry. Draco knew he’d picked out a great outfit, yes, but this was on a different level. These garments actually fit Harry, fabric gripping and caressing him soft and sweet as a lover. It made Draco’s mouth water.

              “Wow,” Draco breathed out, an exhale of delight. “You look incredible.”

              “I could say the same of you,” Harry replied, shifting his weight between his shoes. They gave him some room to move around in, thankfully. “I will, I mean. Say the same of you. You look great.”

              “See how having your measurements does you wonders? Ah, let me fix something…” Draco stepped forward to adjust Harry’s jacket lapels. “Then it seems we’re ready for where I want to take you,” he declared, noting with some smugness how thin Harry’s breath went when he simply touched his clothing.

              “And where is that?”

              “You’ll see.” Draco released his lapels and turned around to call for the gentleman shopkeep. “We’ll take all of this to go,” he informed him and motioned to the card at the register so they could be rung up. When the man wasn’t looking Draco opened a charmed bag so Harry could put his old clothes in with Draco’s, the bag sealing so it was only the size of Draco’s palm. He would hold onto this for now, fully intending to return it though he hoped Harry would take his advice for the future and stop wearing guesses off the rack when he had the answer in front of him.

              “Have a lovely evening, Sirs,” the gentleman wished them and Draco slipped him a hundred on the counter. Before he could thank them Draco waved Harry on, taking the receipt without looking at the total and tossing it in the bin by the door on the way out.

              Harry could have sworn he heard this proper English gentleman swear with how surprised he was by the tip as the door closed behind them.

              “If you will,” Draco offered Harry his arm again in the fresh air, the sky now dark and the streetlights burning bright.

              “I will,” Harry confirmed with great cheer, and took Draco’s arm with greater ease this time around.

              “Now, before we get where I’m taking you I should make some further inquiries,” Draco went on, steering Harry around a corner and heading North.

              “I was last tested in January for my yearly physical, and everything came back negative,” Harry responded quickly.

              Draco did his best not to laugh. “That is, ah, not what I was going to ask, but that is good to hear. I was last tested a month ago and was also negative. And you know, you really should be having general examinations twice a year, it’s a better cadence.”

              Harry was now doing his best to not look at Draco, head turned bashfully away. That was really presumptuous, wasn’t it? Dammit. “Sorry,” he said quickly.

              “No, don’t be,” Draco reassured him.

              “What were you actually going to ask?”

              “I was inquiring about possible food allergies.”

              “Oh, that’s—well, I was far off, okay,” Harry said, still not recovered from his embarrassment but at least able to smile about it now. He could hardly stop smiling with how close he and Draco were, how dressed up they were—together. Their outfits hardly matched but they were easily spotted as a pair. People who walked by them gave them a wide berth, and Harry was trying not to dissect what their stares meant. “No allergies. I’ll eat just about anything, too.”

              Merlin, Harry looked like a million galleons in this getup. Draco had outdone himself. “Excellent,” he chirped, head held high. “And as for your glasses, is your sight actually as awful as I always teased you for?” Draco hoped they could get on with joking about that sort of thing.

              “Yes,” Harry allowed with only a little squeeze of Draco’s arm in retaliation. “I’m near-sighted. The closer the better, really. Things start to go blurry about an arm’s length away without my lenses. Please don’t tell me you’re going to try and do that thing in movies where the guy takes off the girl’s glasses to make her prettier.”

              Draco made a face. “What in the hell are you talking about? You’re plenty pretty already, Harry, and you have to know I don’t watch movies. I only ask so I know for future reference.” Draco did watch some moves, but wasn’t about to admit to that just yet.

              “Well, how am I supposed to know with your muggle money and shopping in muggle stores? I’m really proud of you, you know.” Draco had seemed annoyed by the slow pace of shopping without magic but he’d been perfectly pleasant to that older gentleman. Harry shouldn’t be surprised, Draco likely had to develop a bedside manner for his profession.

              “You are such a ponce,” Draco shot back because he honestly didn’t know how to react to a statement like that. Harry Potter, proud of him? It read like a joke. “Cloying as ever, some things never change.” He gave Harry a smile at the end of that jab, eyes locking with his. Those spectacles of his, old-fashioned as they were, were deeply endearing to Draco.

              Harry rolled his eyes in return. “Snarky as ever to cover up the vulnerability. Yeah, some things don’t change.”

              “Right for the jugular,” Draco hissed, pretending to be wounded. “Now, something I believe I correctly recall from those years we spent in that musty castle is that you have a sweet tooth. You always went for the pastries and cakes first. What was it—? Treacle tarts. Your favorite, yes?”

              “And here I thought I was the one watching you,” Harry snorted. “But that bit about red not being my favorite color back in the store, that’s not as impressive as me actually knowing for a fact your favorite color is and always has been green.”

              Draco pursed his lips trying not to smile. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

              “Oh, come on, it’s the truth and we both know it. You loved sporting your colors for Quidditch especially.”

              “You are correct, though you had an advantage given that you saw me in it most days,” Draco relented, looking down to his own emerald suit, some parts of it catching the streetlamps and glowing as they walked by them. “I love green. At the best of times I loved being in the Slytherin commonroom during the day when they light shone through the lake. One of the parlors I will decorate in homage to the emerald couches I spent so much time on. The way the floorplan is set up for the next years of construction has _lots_ of parlors, so I might as well make them themed. I had to cut my parents off from adding any more during the planning phases.”

              A recreation of his commonroom, why had Harry never thought about that in decorating his own flats in the past and present? He missed couches, and the pillows, too. He’d never had many pillows at Privet Drive. “That’s a lot of parlors for one man.” It wasn’t as if Lucius or Narcissa would ever step inside of it again.

              Draco smiled distantly. “It is. I plan to host grand parties to fill it.”

              They walked in silence with both men fretting that it was lasting too long. They walked down the street together, and Harry did notice a glare or two thrown their way. Harry had walked in public with men before, and more than once people had gotten confrontational. At least these were muggles, probably, though the concentration of wizards in London was high. Without Tom Riddle looming over their shoulders everyone had gotten a little freer, everyone except Harry.

              “Only a little bit away now,” Draco assured Harry after they crossed another street. Dare he look for a clock? No, he chose to keep his eyes on Harry’s instead. Green was his favorite and Harry wore it so well. Thick, black eyelashes blinked behind his glasses, revealing a warm trove of emerald each time.

              Harry nodded. What to say in return? He wanted to keep Draco’s interest on him like this; it was so warm. “Lovely night,” Harry said lamely for a lack of things to say.

              “It is,” Draco agreed, sensing Harry’s eagerness to keep speaking. “It’s nearly May, and soon it will be summer. I’ve always loved summers even though my skin is never prepared for it. I burn in minutes flat—you’re a lucky one.”

              “I have my father’s genes to thank for that,” Harry nodded of his darker skin. Lily Evans had been white as snow, but the Potter family had ancestry across continents. “But even then I’ve never really liked summer. I suppose I never got over the connotation that when summer came it meant leaving the castle. For all the peril I faced at Hogwarts I always felt safer there than with the Dursleys.”

              Draco nodded as he processed that. “Didn’t get along well with your Aunt and Uncle?”

              “That’s the understatement of the century,” Harry huffed out a laugh. He often forgot that people weren’t aware of his childhood situation. “I reminded them of why my mother died, and it made them unduly cruel towards me. Dudley got everything, and I was left the scraps. I would shop for them, cook for them, clean for them, sleep in a cupboard under the stairs—“

              “ _What_!” Draco exclaimed.

              Harry was also always forgetting how insane that sounded to outsiders. “I got my own room later, but mostly because the guest room had a lock on it and they could seal me in.”

              “Wait, they had a guest room the whole time and still made you sleep under the stairs?” Draco demanded, a hot rage rising in his throat. Did they know who he was?

              “Yeah,” Harry shrugged. That cutting look in Draco’s eyes was quite something when he knew he wasn’t the target. “I mean, they did get charmed by Albus when they signed up to take care of me. It bound our blood and ownership of my fate until I came of age. They hated magic and really, really did not appreciate that.”

              “Dumbledore did that? And the muggles made you sleep in a cupboard? It wasn’t your fault that the old man did that. That has to be quite illegal, keeping you like you’re a bottle of jam! I don’t know muggle law that well, but if a child patient ever informed me they were being forced under some stairs I would send to the Ministry at once.” How had no one helped Harry as a boy? Even If they didn’t know he was fated to save them all he was still a child, and children were to be protected.

              “I never really saw doctors,” Harry shrugged. “Or much of anyone. I didn’t have friends, or many teachers in school I could trust. Dudley was a menace when he was younger, too, having told all the other kids in town I was a weirdo. He mellowed out around our sixth year but by then I wasn’t even staying with them. Dudley grew out of the homophobia, too, thankfully.”

              “And your Aunt and Uncle?”

              Harry laughed bitterly. “I told them after the war, visited them to let them know they weren’t in danger anymore and it came out in an argument. They were cross as ever, started demanding I tell them every ‘sinful’ thought I had so they might take me to our church. Thankfully Dudley stepped in, told them they were being backwards. Never thought he’d come to my defense after all the years he teased me for having a ‘secret boyfriend’ at school that I definitely did not have.”

              Harry used to think of Draco as a more-refined Dudley because he only saw the other two children, as a child, as bullies. As he grew up he found that bullying was something a person did because they felt powerless—not who they were. It was all a game to Dudley, tossing slurs and dunking on his weird gay cousin who he was forced to monitor. But something had changed in Dudley’s eyes. It crept in over time and then was fully present when Harry returned to their safehouse victorious from having literally saved the world: respect.

              As much as he liked to hide it away, Harry also saw that turn in Draco. Draco recognized his magical power first as one of the only things he was taught how to respect, and now he was seeing beyond that power to the man wielding it.

“The Dursleys never really understood the gravity of the situation with Riddle until I phrased it plainly: all muggles made to serve or die, the battle deciding that coming up right now. Self-preservation took over. Needless to say I don’t talk to any of them much anymore,” Harry finished on his sad tales of abuse at Privet Drive. It was a downer, and he didn’t want to kill the mood.

After fourth year the nightmares about Cedric became unbearable. He would mutter his name in his sleep, his older and deeply unrealistic crush who had been killed right in front of him, and Dudley would tell all his crew his cousin was having gay wet dreams right in his house—how disgusting! Harry would weep for hours and then in his sleep about the things they would say, too. Kids could be so cruel.

Dudley and he were cool now by way of some awkward bro-talk that was excruciating in the moment but at least gave closure. Petunia and Vernon were getting quite old, and the curse of being their only true son was falling on Dudley to care for them. That was punishment enough for any misdeeds he may have committed as a child.

              Draco, on the other hand, was fully prepared to hex the mood and all the Dursleys if necessary. “Those bastards,” he hissed. “Stifling your magic and your sexual orientation—and forcing you to work for them!”

              “They definitely hated the magic more than the gay thing,” Harry recalled. “It was funny how closely they fit Tom Riddle’s propaganda of what ignorant muggles are like. They were the perfect stereotype, hating everything they didn’t understand.”

              A chill ran up Draco’s spine at how casually Harry referred to the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort, the Most Powerful Dark Wizard of All Time, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, His Lordship and Heir to this Pure World Order, was christened ‘Tom’. Well, he wasn’t lord of anything anymore, Draco reinforced to himself as a mantra. In the years directly after the war his paranoia had run wild, making him think Voldemort was around every corner he might turn come to punish him for his betrayal of the Death Eaters.

              The intensity lessened as time went on, but still Draco had night terrors about those pale hands holding him down so Nagini could feast. “Tom Riddle,” Draco said out loud. “It’s so strange to hear him called that.” If anyone dare spoke the name Voldemort had been given before his ‘ascension’ the madman would kill the speaker on the spot.

              “He was just a man,” Harry reminded Draco and himself because Draco did not hold the market majority on Voldemort nightmares. Sometimes Harry put off sleeping until the last second out of fear he might experience that terror again. “And I figure I can call him anything I want considering I killed him.”

              Now that made Draco laugh a sharp, unexpected laugh. “I’ll allow it. You’ve earned that cockiness, yes, that is true.” And thank Merlin, thank all the stars in the sky that Harry had succeeded in doing so entirely, all horcruxes destroyed, even the one inside of him.

              “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, you know. I have no idea what it was like for you. We were just kids.”

              “No, it’s fine, I just—I keep forgetting he actually had a name,” Draco said quickly to assure Harry that this topic of conversation was not forbidden between them. Ignoring the dead fascist elephant in the room haunting them both wouldn’t do anyone any good. “I heard they stopped teaching Amortentia in Potions classes at all the major wizarding schools because of what you said about how love potions made him the way he was.”

              Harry nodded—that had been a point of pride for him, some actual social change. “They don’t sell them at joke shops anymore, either.” Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had thrown a party where they destroyed all the bottles in their stock. “So I suppose we were the last class of Hogwarts students to learn it.”

              “What did yours smell like?” Draco couldn’t help but ask. “I saw you sniffing the cauldron like you were trying to get high on it.”

              “Ha, maybe I was.” Sixth year had been a lot. “It smelled of treacle tarts, wooden broomstick handle, and a sort of lavender smell, flowery but also vanilla. Why, what did you smell?”

              Draco’s thoughts immediately went to the lavender-vanilla shampoo and conditioner he brewed for himself. A coincidence, surely, he told himself to stop his heartbeat from getting any faster. “Fresh chocolate cake baking,” Draco recalled fondly of his own. “The smell of the Malfoy gardens before they all withered away from Vold— _Tom’s_ presence.” So strange to say out loud. “And a delightful, almost soapy mulberry.”

              “I love mulberry,” Harry agreed. It was the sort of soap he used, when he was feeling good enough to go out and buy his soap at a store other than the market on the corner of the street he could visit without speaking to more than two people the entire trip.

              Neither man, too nervous and frazzled from the mere action of walking arm-and-arm, could put two and two together. Hogwarts didn’t focus much on math, and Harry always resented them for not having comprehensive sex-ed.

              “Here we are,” Draco announced in front of an unassuming apartment complex.

              “This is what we needed suits for?” Harry couldn’t help but snark.

              “Oh, hush. You’ll see in a moment.”

              Harry allowed Draco to lead him to the door, looking around the place for signs of anything that might indicate magical concealment. There was nothing.

              Draco pressed the buzzer for flat 2A.

              “Password?” came a thick Scottish accent through the speaker.

              “Bliss,” Draco replied.

              “Your usual table is available, Mr. Malfoy, would you like it prepared for ascension?”

              “If you would for my guest and I, yes.”

              “Come right up.”

              The door to the complex opened. “This way,” he said to Harry.

              Harry felt sweat form on the back of his neck. Where were they going? Was this one of those strange parties that Draco had mentioned earlier? Oh, no, Harry was not ready for that sort of thing. “Um, Draco,” Harry began as they started the climb up the dingy staircase. This did not seem at all to be at the cleanliness standards that Draco Malfoy had displayed earlier in Hogwarts and likely had been amplified by his profession.

              “You’ll see,” Draco insisted, picking up on the twinge of fear in Harry’s voice.

              They reached 2A in no time at all. Harry was trying to trust Draco on this but he really hadn’t said much about their destination, and things were looking sketchier by the minute.

              Draco knocked rhythmically on the flat door and a slot slid open with two eyes peering out. They widened in recognition and the slot closed. Harry heard several mechanisms unlocking on the door and felt for his wand with his free hand just to reassure himself it was there.

              When the door opened Harry was expecting an interior similar to the dusty brownstone the main hallway was in, and was deeply, pleasantly surprised.

              The flat seemed almost to be glowing and Harry had to blink to adjust to it. White floors and white walls with gold lacquer detailing shone brilliantly under bright, stylish lights hung from the ceiling that looked like dandelion puffs. The windows were covered in white panels with massive fountains in front of them—was that chocolate?

              “Welcome, Mr. Malfoy and Guest,” the Scottish man from before greeted them. He was dressed in a fine-pressed tuxedo uniform with a cloth hanging over his arm as if he were a waiter. Was he a waiter? “Welcome to Heaven.”

              “Words I’ll never hear from anyone but you, hm?” Draco joked, indicating it was time for them to walk into the flat. “Let’s ascend, then.”

              Harry looked over the Scotsman’s shoulder to see just what he was getting into and his eyes found—fancy golden buffet tables? He couldn’t tell what was in them at this distance.

              “Is it your first time experiencing bliss with us, Sir?” asked the attendant.

              “Uh,” Harry replied, eyes wide.

              “It is Mr. Potter’s first time, yes,” Draco spoke for him. Was this too much? Was this too weird and theatrical for Harry? Should he have chosen somewhere else?

              “Right this way then, please.”

              Harry stepped forward with Draco and the door sealed behind them, golden locks resealed with a speed that made Harry nervous. Once inside the light was less blinding and his eyes began to adjust. There was artwork on the wall, some of scoops of ice cream and others of molten cakes. What was this place?

              They reached a marble table with two ornate dining chairs—all right next to a massive chocolate fountain. “This is my favorite table,” Draco explained to Harry. He released his arm and stepped behind a dining chair, pulling one out and indicating for Harry to sit on it.

              Quite the gentleman. Harry’s eyes were still darting around the room—several more buffet tables, several other patrons laughing over what looked like menus, more attendants, too. He took his seat looking a bit panicked.

              “Harry,” Draco said as he sat in the chair across from him. “What is going on in your head right now? I can see smoke coming out of your ears.”

              “I—I don’t know what this place is,” Harry answered, still trying to parse all the chic decorations and how everyone here was indeed wearing a suit or a gown.

              “This is Heaven,” spoke the Scotsman, handing out two leather-bound booklets—menus after all. “London’s premiere secret sweets shop. Are you ready to experience bliss?”

              Harry blinked. Was this one of those themed dining things? So it wasn’t a BDSM thing? Harry couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

              “Menus won’t be necessary,” Draco said, handing his back. “We’ll be having one of everything.”

              “Of course, Mr. Malfoy.”

              “I’d still like to look it over,” Harry insisted when the man reached for his, clinging to it like a child.

              “Of course, Mr. Potter. I will inform your server of your selection and return to my place at the door. Please, enjoy.”

              And then it was just the two of them again.

              “What,” Harry said as soon as they were alone. “Is this place?”

              “It’s a little gimmicky, I know,” Draco prefaced. “But you won’t find anywhere better for your sweet tooth. The chefs here are world-class, and the location a well-kept secret amongst the London muggle elite. I ordered us one of everything so we can sample their whole menu and see what you like best.”

              Harry cast his eyes down at the menu. He noted right away that there was no pricing information which usually meant everything was so expensive and exclusive they simply expected the clientele not to care. The headers of the menu were quite promising, though. Cakes and Cupcakes, Frozen Treats, Specialty Teas, Cookies and Pastries… Harry licked his lips.

              “This all sounds great,” Harry said, eyes scanning for his favorites.

              Draco’s eyes went to his watch. 7:30pm—a little more than a half hour left until he saw what Harry really thought. Harry was quite sober by now, not even having gotten that drunk in the first place. Draco was just being careful. How ridiculous would it be if Harry lived through war unmaimed and was harmed by pink lemon drops interfering with apparation? “Their kitchen works quickly, which works with our timer,” Draco reminded Harry gently.

              “Oh, we really don’t have to do that, Draco,” Harry relented, blushing under Draco’s gaze once more to be essentially admitting his enjoyment.

              “Oh, but we do,” Draco replied firmer, eyes narrowing. Harry sat up straighter. “I am deathly serious about my timers, Harry Potter. Time waits for no man.”

              “Timers?” Harry asked almost rhetorically because he wasn’t expecting Draco to answer him.

              “There are so many things you can do with a simple stopwatch.” Draco’s voice went lower, smoother. “See how long things last, run drills, measure time between activities.”

              Harry swallowed. “Wasn’t really thinking of it like that, but I can see the appeal,” he spoke up. It definitely wasn’t anger he was feeling looking at Draco’s neck now, but the heat was as intense. Harry set down his menu. Draco had done quite well on foot with two hours. The fact that he knew about silly muggle places like this and frequented them now made Harry smile. What he’d seen of Draco Malfoy before this day was but a chrysalis, and now he was witnessing the flourishing of the butterfly.

              Harry was spellbound, not by any work of magic but by Draco’s commandeering of what had actually been one of the best first dates of his life, if it could be called that at all. It sure felt like it with everyone here either looking like close friends or on a date. Did Draco bring dates here, or did he come to this table to eat sweets alone?

              Their first ‘course’ came out on a massive golden platter carried by a woman in the same tuxedo has the doorman had worn. There were marshmallow cupcakes topped high with golden frosting, and rich vanilla ice cream with flakes of something sparkly in it. Little jelly-filled pastries that Harry couldn’t identify caught his eye most of all, and fidgeted with his hands when they were placed on the tabletop between them.

              “Please, take whatever you want,” Draco insisted. “Nothing is too extravagant a request. Your enjoyment is the only measure of worth here.”

              Harry’s hands and toes tingled now. He swallowed, and started piling up the pastries and more on his plate. Draco took that as his signal to begin his feast, preoccupied with some little chocolate truffles shaped like mice with slices of nut for ears.

              The first bite Harry took of the mystery pastry was a revelation. He hummed loudly, almost a moan if he hadn’t held back at the end of it. “Strawberry—delicious! And so flaky,” Harry exclaimed before swallowing. “What are the little golden beads in the center, though?”

              “Sugar covered in gold-leaf, most likely,” Draco guessed.

              Harry paused in the middle of his next bite for a moment. Only after thinking and chewing it over did he realize. “As in, gold, gold?” he squeaked.

              Draco smirked. “Yes, gold-gold. Anything below 24 karat is unsuitable for the digestive track so it has to be high-quality,” he informed Harry quite factually. It was also true that beyond helping people, Healer Malfoy loved his job as it allowed him to know all of this information about the body making himself feel quite superior in conversation. It was the little joys in life to treasure, Draco had found as grew older. “’Heaven’ uses gold-leaf and other edible luxuries in their products.”

              “I’m eating gold, like, the metal gold?” Harry asked again, eyes blown wide.

              “Yes, Harry,” Draco laughed. “How does it taste?”

              Harry curiously picked up a cookie with flakes on it. He bit in, experiencing a snickerdoodle that might indeed be divine. It took a few more bites with how focused Harry was on this perfect snack that he forgot to press his tongue against the flakes especially.

              “It tastes like… nothing,” Harry concluded with a bit of shock. “Nothing.”

              “Yes, it doesn’t taste like much of anything at all.”

              “I can’t even imagine how much you’re paying for me to taste nothing,” Harry marveled, almost horrified in light of his humble roots. “And I am grateful, really Draco, because these sweets are top-shelf, but… why?”

              After swallowing his last bite of cupcake Draco allowed himself to laugh. “The Golden Boy had never even eaten gold—what a tragedy. I did it to right that wrong,” Draco answered cheekily.

              Their waitress came back and consolidated plates, putting out thick slices of red velvet and cheesecake next to classic chocolate-chip cookies. Draco helped himself immediately, and Harry followed suit as tea cups were refilled with hot, sweet brews.

              “There are things you should experience,” Draco went on once she was out of earshot again, dunking a chocolate-chip cookie into the chocolate fountain. “Now that you have the freedom and the means to, don’t you think it’s time?”

              “It just seems… I dunno, a little frivolous.”

              “Don’t you think you’ve earned frivolity?” Draco pressed stronger this time, leaning forward like he had in the bar. “Don’t you think you deserve it?”

              Harry ate another fleck of gold in the cheesecake, chocolate shavings rounding out the palette scrumptiously. He would have smiled at the taste but now his brow was furrowed thinking of what Draco was asking him. “I don’t know,” Harry answered weakly, returning to ravage the rest of the cheesecake in pursuit of truths.

              Silence lingered between them once more, and Draco could hear his own heartbeat in his ears with how close to the wire this might be on time. The courses were coming out at acceptable speeds, ice cream scoops next. It was hard to speak with mouths so full so they went quiet once more.

              Halfway between the next round of shortbread Draco had to say something.

              “Harry, the net worth of good you have done in this world is undeniable. Not every second has to be that, though, you don’t have to devote your life to others,” Draco pushed, his shoe slowly moving towards Harry’s beneath the table. “You aren’t betraying a past you, or lost loved one by living your life as you see fit today.”

              Occupied with chewing on some cannoli’s that had been placed down when he wasn’t even looking, Harry used a full mouth as his excuse to keep quiet long enough to think. It was so hard to think Draco looking at him like that—like he really and actually cared. His velvety voice, the smell of baked goods, every sense of Harry’s overwhelmed with the most saccharine of stimuli.

              He finished chewing and locked his eyes on Draco’s. “And you’ll be the one to provide that, is that what you’re implying?” Harry questioned. They had no more than fifteen minutes left at this point, and Harry’s stomach was moving towards full. They could only really take a bite out of each dish now between the both of them, and Harry felt immediately guilty for asking and for eating.

              “I’m not implying anything. This has been a lovely evening, Harry, nearly three hours now and we haven’t even blindly attacked one another. I can make claims about your favorite things but I cannot claim to know your mind. I could never truly in such a short time. I do not imply, but I wonder. I told you, you give me ideas.”

              “Like this idea?” Harry asked of all the sweets they’d laid waste to in front of them.

              “And a few others,” Draco nodded.

              Harry was going to ask to hear about them when the waitress returned with two final bowls.

              “Now, to cross the rainbow on your return home,” she recited as she placed rainbow sherbet down as their final dessert. “Thank you both for experiencing your bliss with us tonight, Sirs.”

              After slipping her his credit card Draco returned his full attention to Harry. “Well, are you ready to cross the rainbow, Harry?” Draco motioned with his spoon, a sherbet-eating grin on as he dug in.

              “I think, horrifyingly, I am,” Harry said. He was so full, but how could he resist this cheesy themed nonsense? For a moment they were away from the world, in an apartment with covered windows that no one suspected held such wonders. And all without magic, too. Muggles could be so brilliant in working with what they had.

              Harry sampled his first bite and made a content noise as it melted in his mouth.

              “I don’t mind tasting the rainbow, either,” Harry said and went for more. It took him a moment to realize his own accidental double-entendre.

              “Quite the flirt, aren’t you, Harry?” Draco replied in his most gentle of teasing, which for most was still pretty strong. “What is to be done about that?”

              Draco’s words set an earthquake beneath Harry’s feet. Fuck, he was so hot, and he was leaning in even closer now. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Harry replied trying not to sound as hoarse as he was. He went for his tea next trying to soothe his dry throat as all air has escaped him to hear Draco speak to him this way. Draco had to know how this was affecting him.

              The waitress returned with Draco’s card. “We hope you join us again soon, Sirs and please, bask in the clouds with us as long as you please this evening.”

              “Thank you,” Harry said to her because he was not at all sure how to play along with the storyline this placed had cooked up.

              “Yes, thank you, excellent as always,” Draco nodded as well and signed the receipt with a massive tip, leaving it on the edge of the table for her to collect once they’d left. “Well, Harry, it seems we’re welcome as long as we like. Please, sit back, enjoy your tea.” These last few minutes of their allotted time would be uninterrupted by outside distractions.

              Harry was so tempted to look at his phone that his hands actually itched for it. No, no, he had to let this play out naturally. Why had Draco been so kind and gotten his expectations so high? That was never good. He sipped more tea but couldn’t sit back. “Thank you for showing me this place, really. And this suit—I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever looked better and you have to know how rare it is for me to compliment myself like that.”

              “Unfortunately I’m beginning to have some idea of it,” Draco nodded with his knowing smile. “You are very welcome, Harry. To think you were the one I spent these past few days daydreaming of—‘H’, a submissive seeking solace. You are a vision in your new suit.” Draco’s eyes followed the seams of the jacket around Harry’s arms, wondering how they would feel to hold. “Any Daddy would be lucky to call you his.” What was he getting himself into?

              Wanting things he couldn’t have was something Draco always felt on principle, but this urge was sheer madness.

              Draco’s gaze warmed Harry’s whole chest up again, tingles spreading out from the center to hear Draco say that oh-so-forbidden and heart-stopping five-letter word. His posh accent made it sound so unbelievably hot. “You daydreamed of me?” was all Harry could manage, face red but turned upwards smiling so hard it hurt.

              “Long hours at St. Mungo’s allow my mind to wander, and I wandered over to you. I will admit my shock and horror at first but I couldn’t be happier that ‘H’ is you, and that you’re you, Harry,” Draco admitted with some pain. Sincerity was a risky move in a world like this.

              “I am, too,” Harry followed up quickly. “I’m glad you’re you, too. Seeing you like this—“

              A chime went off, like the sound of a churchbell shrunk down with magic. Was that what Draco had in his watch? Harry looked to Draco a bit horrified. Had he messed this whole thing up? Was it all going to end?

              “What now?” Harry asked, voice thinner than before, afraid to lose this feeling.

              “Well, Harry, I believe that is entirely up to you. Now that I am sure you’re sober as the day you were born I am open to hearing all about your ideas, too.”

              “Draco?”

              “…Yes?”

              “Show me the guest bedroom.”


	5. Tucked In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head Harry has always 100% of the time had a Daddy Kink but writing it out really does make me blush!! This fic is an act of bravery on my part.

**Chapter 5: Bliss**

On an intellectual level when Draco said the Manor had been bulldozed and built anew Harry understood that. When it came to actually seeing it, though, Harry found himself holding his breath long after they’d found a private place to apparate.

              Only after a long moment of staring by the gates could Harry conclude that yes, this was a different Manor altogether. The architecture was more modern, and parts were still clearly under construction.

              Draco watched Harry watch the Manor, wondering if it was too much to be back here. What had happened to Granger here especially was a horror Draco was sure Harry would rather forget. Their own ‘struggle’ for the wands that Draco gave up on purposefully happened here, too. Was Harry thinking of that, too?

              “Let’s go,” Harry nodded, and Draco snapped his fingers to open the all-new gates, white and massive with cursive ‘M’s in the center. The hedges that had once lined the front yard were all ripped up, traded in for leafier plants that provided the same protective privacy cover. The rest of the front yard interior was empty, rolling grass cleaned out for something to be installed that hadn’t been decided on yet.

              The path of small stones leading up to the front door crunched under their feet. “Clearly it needs a lot of work,” Draco prefaced, a bit embarrassed at the state of it. He had spent so much time pursuing his career that the house wasn’t nearly as done as he’d have liked it to be ten years into the project.

              “It’s nice,” Harry responded quickly. He was no longer holding Draco’s arm, the two walking side-by-side up to two massive white doors. “I like the style. It doesn’t look like the old one.”

              “And it never will, no matter how much my father nags me,” Draco declared. He had apparated them to the beginning of the driveway to give them enough time to talk about what was to come. “Harry, I really must ask you again if you are okay with this.”

              “With the house or with you?” Harry gave him cheek right back against that serious tone Draco had taken up. He was concerned, that was nice, but Harry had made his choice. He gave Draco as mile as they came to a stop before the doors. “I think both suit me just fine.”

              Draco’s eyebrows shot up. He still wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t a wet dream gone terribly awry. “Well then. If you say so.” Draco turned the golden doorknob and opened the door to the grand staircase with the opulent chandelier hanging overhead. He lit the candles with a wave of his wand and the room lit up to reveal refined furniture and art.

“The first floor is mostly done,” he went on because showing someone the inside of this house when it wasn’t finished always made him nervous. “That’s been my main focus. My room was always on the third floor, so I put it up there this time, too. The second floor needs more love, and don’t even get me started on the fourth and fifth”

              “I like it,” Harry said again, his first and final verdict on the matter. Draco seemed oddly nervous about how he would receive it from how he was fidgeting with his hands. Really, Harry would have liked anything, but this far exceeded his low standards to the point where compliments were necessary. “It’s well put-together. I’m pleasantly surprised at how much red there is in here.”

              That made Draco laugh. “I don’t hold a prejudice against the color, no,” he confirmed. Draco stepped forward, allowing himself a moment of admiration for his work as well. Now that he wasn’t linked to Harry by arm there was the benefit of being able to look at him head-on for further admiration as well.

              Draco’s eyes scanned the room and Harry bloody Potter looked like he belonged here. It was the suit, and the décor, and the way Harry was smiling. Knowing that smile was for him lit a fire in Draco’s chest.

              Draco led Harry around the first floor, showing him the kitchen and dining rooms and quite the assortment of parlors. He narrated his building process as he walked, hoping to give Harry some insight into why things looked the way they did.

              Harry was utterly enraptured. Suddenly Draco Malfoy’s opinion on curtains and rugs were very, very important to him. He listened closely, following Draco from room to room. Someone could get lost in here with how many halls led to more bathrooms and more sitting rooms. What he had said before turned out to be truer than ever—this was a lot for one person to live in.

              “There is also the matter of the rear yard. It used to be a flourishing garden, but all the plants withered and died from dark magical influences.” Everything around Tom Riddle seemed to drop dead without him even trying, and yet Harry had evaded that fate twice. Draco would be lying to say he wasn’t jealous of that kind of power.

              Harry peeked out a window. “That’s a lot of space,” Harry observed. “You could put a Quidditch Pitch out there and have room to spare. What are you going to do with it all?”

              “The Malfoy Gardens will bloom once again,” Draco said with the utmost determination. “Hedge mazes, fountains, koi and toad ponds, and flowers as far as the eye can see. I had some of my best childhood memories out in that yard.” His face fell when he joined Harry at the window and all of that was gone. How in the world was he to bring back such splendor?

              The Gardens had been managed by the Malfoy family for generations to grow so strong. Each matriarch of the house took up the task, a bit sexist in Draco’s modern opinion, and added their own signature plants in. All of that was destroyed in a matter of months with Voldemort skulking about. Draco was glad the peacocks—for all the times they had been his adversary—were transferred to the French estate once the flowers started to rot on their vines.

              This amount of space for childhood fun was beyond Harry. So much space to run, so many corners to hide in with all the plants… He couldn’t say he was fond of hedge mazes after fourth year but it must have been a true delight for a kid. Harry could feel Draco staring at him. “You’ll do it,” Harry nodded with the utmost confidence. “Bit by bit, you’ll get there.”

              Draco wished he was as sure of himself as Harry Potter seemed to be. He’d come back here with him not just willingly, but he had been the one to suggest it.

              “Let me show you the third floor,” Draco nodded and stepped away.

              Harry followed.

              The grand staircase was a marvel all in itself. The metal railings that spiraled around it was so thin but expertly-carved to look like blossoming flowers in chains. This level of pomp reminded Harry of Hogwarts but these stairs weren’t trying to kill him or change destinations so he was late for Potions again.

              The second floor was too dark to see much with no light through the windows and no lamps or candles in sight. Harry figured that Draco liked it better that way, not having to see all that empty space it was his duty to fill. Harry had always been jealous of Draco’s life—his wealth, his parents who loved him—but it seemed being a Malfoy was a heavy burden to shoulder.

              Harry was half-tempted to reach out and touch Draco’s shoulder as he followed, but ultimately kept his hands to himself.

              “This way is my room,” Draco said and brightened noticeably once he had something else to show he was actually proud of. Draco opened the double-doors with a swish of his wand and stepped inside. Being in here made him feel safer, more secure than ever. The bed was made perfectly, and the bookshelves around the room were perfectly-aligned. “The best room in the house, obviously.”

              When those doors opened and Harry stepped through he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was trespassing on sacred ground. Draco was clearly willingly showing him, but seeing this room still felt sacrilegious. This was where Draco Malfoy slept, and that made Harry’s throat tight.

              “The washroom is through that way, and my closet—“ Draco swung those double doors open, too. “My armory.”

              Within was a deep, wide room full of fabrics of all colors. Harry stepped forward for a better look and smiled. “You have a vanity dedicated just to sunglasses?”

              Draco’s cheeks warmed up. “Essential to any summer outfit or subtle hangover,” he explained and closed the doors, feeling a bit exposed on that tidbit of information. Draco hadn’t shown anyone new his room in a long while.

              “It’s really nice,” Harry complimented quickly after, not wanting any more doors to close. “All of it is...” Harry tried to rack his brain for a word that wasn’t ‘expensive’. “Very you.” It was refined, and subverted Harry’s expectation of it looking like the Slytherin commonroom with all these calming shades, some even near lavender. No, this was no pale imitation of childhood, this was an adult man’s bedroom. Harry felt his heart slowly rise in his throat. He was in Draco Malfoy’s _bedroom_.

              “Thank you,” Draco nodded. “I have high standards and this room finally meets them.” Draco put his hands in his trouser pockets and looked around at the room, ruminating on his own genius.

              Harry swallowed. Should he ask what was really on his mind?

              “It really is better with daylight, but the lamps and candles make do for now,” Draco went on aimlessly. “Oh, there’s the scroll from Safeword.” He snorted a laugh to himself.

              “Draco?”

              Draco turned around to direct his full focus on Harry. “Yes?” Why did Harry saying his first name like that make his chest so tight?

              “Can I—wait, may I see the guestroom?”

              The little correction of grammar Harry made was so cute it had to be criminal. Why was he trying to be proper around him, and why was it so endearing? His voice was rougher compared to Draco’s posh accent, but Draco liked that about him.

              “Absolutely,” Draco replied. That was what Harry had wanted then, and it appeared he hadn’t wavered on that. “Right this way.”

              With his heart in his throat and his eyes on Draco’s back, Harry followed. It wasn’t a long walk at all until they were in front of a door—just one door, no doubles. When Draco opened it to reveal a room of a simpler kind of elegance than Draco’s room had sported it made Harry smile.

              Shit, was he amused by this? Was that a good thing? Draco fretted with his ring, twisting it as Harry evaluated further, looking happy but not saying much.

              It was large, not as large as Draco’s but certainly bigger than any of Harry’s previous bedrooms had ever been. “I like it,” Harry said after a long and thorough inspection. There were cool cream and blue colors reminiscent of a robin’s nest all over the décor, and a bed that looked soft enough to cushion the moon. It made Harry feel calm.

              “It’s still very much a blank canvas,” Draco assured him and started a slow, nervous pace on the far side of the room as he pontificated further on how all of this could change, and how the bathroom was fully-stocked.

              Harry heard Draco’s words but somehow felt like he was hearing past them. Was Draco nervous? Yes, Draco Malfoy looked nervous, and was rambling on about soap or something. Harry’s traitorous mind conjured the image of Draco in the bath and it took some serious willpower to wipe it away.

              He turned to the bed with the tips of his fingers tingling. Cautiously, Harry approached it. He spread his fingers wide and smoothed them along the comforter, so downy and plush. Draco had stopped talking.

              “Only the highest thread count, of course,” Draco said of the sheets. He wondered what Harry’s fingertips felt like and was breathless a moment.

              There was something hypnotic about this bed. Before Harry knew it he was yawning, and yawning loud.

              “Am I truly boring you so deeply?” Draco teased, his default response around Harry. “Or are you just looking for someone to tuck you in?”

              Harry blinked a few times before trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes with the back of his hand. “No one,” he said, casting his gaze away. “Has ever tucked me in.”

              “What?” Draco asked, eyes wide and dumbfounded.

              “I mean, my parents did, but I only have one memory of it that I’m frankly not sure if it’s even real. Madam Pomfrey had to have because whenever I was injured I woke to having a blanket on… but that’s it.”

              Draco shook his head. “That’s not right.” It was probably rich coming from an Ex-Death Eater what was right and what wasn’t. Still, Draco searched for Harry’s eyes again. “Are you tired? It is getting late, and...” Draco straightened his shoulders. “You can stay here, if you like. I will sleep in my room and you in here, and you can leave any time you want through the Floo. But—you should sleep if you’re tired.”

              Was Draco seriously offering that? Harry leapt at a reply before Draco could change his mind. “Those are your Healer’s orders, then?”

              The corners of Draco’s lips twitched upward. “Shall I fetch you pyjamas, then?” Draco countered, always game to raise the stakes when it came to Harry Potter. This game of chicken made both their hearts pound.

              “I suppose I can’t sleep in this. Yes, it is getting late, too…” Harry was prepared to drop as many excuses as needed to stay here when Draco was the one who suggested it. “May I also get my clothes from before back?”

              “Ah, of course.” Draco reached for his charmed bag and produced the clothes for Harry. “Please, wash up all you like. I’ll be back in a moment with nightclothes.” Draco was acting like the perfect gentleman host, and smiling like he was ready to take a bite out of Harry.

              Harry nodded, mouth too dry to reply. Wearing Draco Malfoy’s pyjamas? Though clean from the wash they would be what the other man slept in, wriggled into and out of for access to himself.

              Once Draco was gone it was time to wash up, apparently. The bathroom was in the same blue palette as the guestroom, but there were much beachier accents in here. Shells on the curtains, for soap dishes, on the walls—Harry could even breathe in and smell the ocean from a charmed conch shell resting on the toilet. So many products, too. He didn’t think he was welcome to them, and used the soap sparingly.

              There was a massive tub that had a showerhead and jets. Harry yearned for a soak like that on his aching neck and shoulders.

              While he only used the sink for no, Harry got on with the freshening up with a remarkable enthusiasm. When Draco returned all that was left for Harry was to clean his glasses. There was a knock on the door and Harry almost dropped them.

              “Are you decent enough to receive your clothes for tonight?” came Draco’s muffled voice.

              With a little laugh Harry let his shoulders relax. “Yes, I am.”

              Draco opened the door and bore the bundle in his arms. The pyjamas were a satiny red, flowing and free for maximum comfort. “For old time’s sake,” Draco teased.

              “…I would say something snide back but these look really soft,” Harry marveled quietly, running his fingertips over the fabric.

              He took the pyjamas in his arms, nodding a thanks as Draco closed the door once more.

              In the mirror on his side of the door Harry saw himself dressed pretty damn well. It was almost a pity to take it off. But then there was the bundle in his arms, slowly unfolding to reveal gold trimming. Harry snorted. Draco really had thought of everything.

              Harry didn’t linger long on his own naked image in the process of changing—he never had. It seemed these days Harry didn’t have anything nice to say about himself. He had no idea how to be ‘hot’ to girls in Hogwarts when he thought that was his fate, but he _really_ had no idea how to be attractive for men. He touched himself quite a bit, but would he ever want a man like himself? Harry frowned to remember seeing himself at every angle when people pretended to be him during the war to distract Death Eaters. What a damn nightmare.

              Being here tonight felt nothing like it had the last time, that much was sure. Harry was free to go, to back out of whatever was happening here, but he didn’t dare.

              The pyjamas slid on easily, fabric gliding over Harry’s skin. When he looked at himself dressed in this splendor he felt better not for the expense likely put into it, but for how it covered him up from himself. There was nothing left to do now but walk out.

              The nightmare of a war faded away to a dream in low lights. Draco was sitting at the edge of the bed, now himself dressed in a sleeping robe of green that made his light hair all the brighter. No matter how low the lights, Draco Malfoy’s hair always glistened in them.

              The covers were pulled back for Harry. Draco, fully devoted to the challenge given—the tucking-in of a lifetime—extended a hand to help Harry into bed. Harry’s eyes remained on the clearly-planned robe color alignment; he’d seen the size of Draco’s closet.

              The back of Harry’s head met with the puffed-up center of a pillow and the rest of his body sank down into a greater comfort than he had ever felt before.

              Draco sat on the bed at Harry’s side. “You get what you pay for, you know,” Draco couldn’t help but point out. “Linens are an investment as much as mattresses. Speaking of—is this too soft?”

              “It’s perfect,” Harry responded with a sleepy grin.

              “Excellent.” Draco stood so he could gather the sheets and comforter up. Once he had a grip on the right side he moved to do exactly as all those who’d tucked him in over the years had done. Draco tucked in the left side and moved to gather the blankets around the feet for extra warmth. Harry’s circulation was poor from how cold his hands had seemed in the evening.

              Harry stayed perfectly still through all of this, gaze unflinching on Draco’s face when it scrunched as he moved the blankets in.

              “May I?” Draco asked, a finger on Harry’s temple and one on the rim of his glasses.

              “Yes,” Harry allowed, closing his eyes.

              Draco took off the glasses slowly to make sure he did not bend or break them. They were placed on the bedside table with the same loving attention. Draco kept the nearsightedness in mind, or so he would say if pressed, and got quite close to Harry’s face. “While you were changing I fetched you a glass of water. IF you need anything else, I am right down the hall.”

              “Thank you,” Harry whispered in return. This level of attention had him blushing profusely, but he was smiling all the same.

              “You are quire welcome.” Draco pressed a palm to Harry’s forehead as if checking for fever and Harry thought nothing of it. It was when Draco began to move the hair up off his forehead that Harry began to fear.

              Once the scar was out in the open Harry could never take it back, like the ‘detention’ carving on his hand and the other injuries that lingered.  Harry’s stupid destiny had ruined a lot of relationships and while yeah, Draco knew he was the ‘Golden Boy’ did he really know how much he hated it?

              Harry’s thoughts were interrupted Draco did something that sent a shock through his whole system. Draco leaned in and pushed his lips to Harry’s emblematic scar. Draco kissed it not once but twice in long, tender intervals before standing up straight again.

              “Goodnight, Harry,” Draco whispered like a prayer.

              “Goodnight, Draco.” Harry let his tired eyes finally close in bliss, the real kind. He had done a lot, and walked more than his usual pacing around the flat. He quietly celebrated the kisses he’d gotten, glowing even in his exhaustion. Harry was tired, and apparently felt safe enough to fall asleep before Draco even left the room.

              Draco looked over his shoulder to observe this with immense satisfaction. He murmured the spell to extinguish the lights and walked back to his room, a renewed pep in his step. Perfect execution, points for style—Draco had done all he could to nail what this really was, an audition to be Harry’s Daddy.

              Draco returned to his room and left the door open a crack just in case. Tonight they would sleep, and if Harry was still considering him, then he would still be here in the morning.

              Try as he might to not get his hopes up, Draco Malfoy’s heart was one of a romantic. IF he proved himself in this trial maybe it could mean he’d changed entirely as a person, and achieved something else all on his own.

              In their separate rooms the men dreamed of vibrant fabrics in all colors, desserts, and each other.

              *** *** ***

              Morning came for Draco first, a slow rise as he got used to being awake again. There was a sharp skip in his heartbeat when he remembered the previous evening. Had it all been some wonderful dream? There was no way, absolutely no way Harry Potter had asked to be taken to the Manor and shown the room Draco intended for his future submissive.

              In a quiet panic Draco crept down the hall bathed in morning light, peeking in the door to see if he had truly gone mad enough as to imagine a whole evening of romance with someone he hadn’t spoken to in a decade. His stomach flipped to discover Harry bloody Potter still all tucked-in, sleeping deeply and peacefully in a bed that he knew well the meaning of sleeping in.

              Harry looked so much younger like this, his face less pressed in concern now that his mind was off in dreamland. What could he be dreaming of? Harry’s raven hair covered his eyes, the bird’s nest having reformed with a vengeance in the tossing and turning of the night.

              Draco swallowed. There was no time to waste, it seemed.

              Gathering his sleeping robe around himself over the shirt and long pants Draco made his way down the grand staircase like a lady holding her skirts. Draco had always loved that about wizards getting to wear robes, even though he did find the time to appreciate a good muggle suit, like he had last night. Potter cleaned up damn well—oh, wait, yes, they were using first names now.

              Draco giggled to himself and twirled off the bannister on the main floor. Harry, Harry Potter was in his guestroom fast asleep.

              Before Draco had even gotten to the kitchen he had raised his wand and chin high in perfect sync, ready to cast a cavalcade of spells so this got done as quickly as possible. He would need to double the recipe, but he had this routine down to under fifteen minutes for when he was called to the hospital unexpectedly. Draco never let himself go to work on an empty stomach, even if it meant a sugary snack from the vending contraptions they’d installed in the lobby.

              Saying his incantations with perfect pronunciation—Flitwick would be proud if he wasn’t likely still horrified by his existence—Draco began a measured dance around the kitchen.

              Cabinets flew open, a shallow glass pie dish landing gracefully in front of Draco. He floated two eggs over it, cracking them precisely down the center. Next came milk and sugar, a whisk flying over to start whipping the substances together.

              Draco measured out the perfect amount of cinnamon and vanilla extract for two and used his wand to tip them over into the dish as well.

              All the while the oven had been firing up behind him, Draco murmuring spells for heat and to bring the pan over to be buttered. With a thick glob of European butter Draco tilted the handle so that every inch was coated. The breadbox opened and out shot four pieces of a thick brioche. It was then that Draco could set down his wand.

              By hand he dipped each slice into the pie tin on both sides, coating them in the mixture thoroughly before transferring them onto the bubbling, greased pan. Cooking was much like making potions to Draco, and he’d always done well with those. It occurred to him when thinking of potions that he would need to owl Theo soon to see how business was going.

              Theodore Nott would understand perfectly when Draco told him—if Draco was allowed to tell him—that Harry bloody Potter had been occupying most of his free thoughts and now time.

              Humming to himself because if he ever did get to tell his friends about this they’d all properly lose their shit, Draco flipped over the French toast as it began to take on a golden-brown texture. He was making excellent time according to the clock on the wall, and that only puffed Draco up more.

              He was getting too far ahead of himself.

              Focusing on the task at hand, making the crispiest and sugariest French toast of all time, Draco found a steadier state of mind. He was making breakfast, and soon enough he’d be serving it in bed to someone who likely hadn’t had breakfast in bed either if he’d never been tucked in. These facts of life were too depressing and Draco had taken it upon himself to show Harry what he deserved to be getting all this time.

              The man who objectively deserved breakfast in bed the most in the world—for without his stupidly brave actions there would be neither breakfast nor beds left to this world—had probably only gotten something like this in the Hospital Wing he frequented back in school.

              Draco was hotter than Madam Pomfrey, too, that was for sure.

              Learning of Harry Potter’s homosexuality sorted out a great deal of their childhood looking back, didn’t it? The following, the staring, the verbal spats where they couldn’t stop gazing longingly at each other’s lips—Draco had thought it all to be one-sided but now knew better.

              He flipped over the French toast in the skillet, judging both sides with a few more flips before deciding each piece to be done. He stacked two on two plates, topping off the dishes with magically-spread powdered sugar and maple syrup. Next came the fruits and berries around the edges, and finally, the glasses of water and fresh-squeezed orange juice.

              Draco really had been meaning to get the Manor’s fruit trees up and running again in the back but they proved finicky no matter what growth potion he poured on them. For now he got his oranges from a Marlborough Farmer’s Market not too far from the Manor. Wiltshire was of quiet, green country, with lots of space in between neighbors and magic wards to keep the muggles from discovering the Manor existed in the first place.

              Aside from the occasional glare when wearing particularly garish outfits the farmers didn’t care to know his address or even his name. It had been like that now with many in long, English stonewalled silence. Draco tried to get their growing advice as well, but they were even tighter-lipped than usual on the tools of the trade to Draco.

              With two plates fixed and ready to go, Draco levitated a tray lined with Irises and lavender sprigs. There was always the chance that Draco could return to the third floor and find it empty, and that would be a hurricane on his parade, but he hoped he was still up there. Irises stood for faith, hope, and trust.

              Draco made it all the way up the stairs down the western third hall to the guest room and froze at the half-open door. He couldn’t see anything with this tray in his face, and he had to concentrate on the spell. In it was, even if doing so made a fool of him.

              “Breakfast is served,” Draco announced with a knock and walked into the guestroom with eyes wide and alert for the morning. “How often do you eat breakfast?” Draco followed up suspiciously.

              Harry had already been awake when Draco came in but the follow-up question so early in the morning—it implicated him, as well. “Not enough,” Harry settled on. He licked his lips openly at this display of breakfast delight and turned his wakening eyes to Draco. “Thank you, for breakfast, if I’m really allowed to eat this—“

              “Allowed? Who do you think I made the other plate up for, my other gentleman callers?”

              Oh, so Draco was fully verbally combative in the morning, too. Harry was doing his best against an absolute master here. He looked down at the French toast and realized Draco was a master in many ways, many ways indeed.

              “Thank you,” Harry repeated pointedly, and reached for a fork. The fruit was fresh by the taste of it. “It’s the first time someone’s, for a non-medical reason, given me breakfast in bed.”

              “I thought so,” Draco replied smugly. The irony of his profession was glorious as well here. “And you are very welcome. Let me know if you prefer it another way.”

              Harry was too busy eating the best damn French toast of this life to comment much on it. “Thish is—this is magnificent,” he signaled, hand brandishing a full fork.

              “I am glad you like it. Simple but tested recipe, and timed.”

              “You and your timers,” Harry nodded after a particularly-big swallow. Draco tried not to stare too obviously at his neck. “I like it.”

              The two ate, bodies wanting from how much they’d walked the night before.

              “Don’t you have to get to the hospital? It’s Monday,” Harry inquired when that dawned upon him.

              “I put in for a vacation day last night before bed. I am taking an extended holiday, all paid, and so HR Department rejoiced, Hallelujah,” Draco went on, all to say: “I have a lot of unused vacation days. I keep telling myself I’m saving them for a few months of dedication to the Manor….” Draco’s lips twitched. “But that’s not why I took off. I want to be here, Harry, with you, as long as I can.”

              “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Harry admitted with French toast crumbs on his chin and a sparkle in his eye for the man who’d tucked him in. “I don’t know what I want most of the time, but what I asked for in that magazine hasn’t changed.”

              “There will be rules,” Draco nodded quite seriously before sullying his own posture for the last cinnamon-y bite. Such a beautiful morning to be snacking with a snack like this little twink. Draco wondered how Harry would react if he called him that. “On both sides, of course.”

              “Everything I said in the messages,” Harry brought up.

              “Yes, received and processed,” Draco replied illustratively. “You have to submit to a full, professional Healer physical by me,” Draco sent right back. “ _Twice_ a year.”

              Now that made Harry laugh. “Okay, should’ve seen that one coming.” Harry wriggled, sitting up straighter. “Agreed, yes. I’m half-expecting you to have papers to sign.”

              “That comes later,” Draco assured Harry. “But before it I need more from you. Is there more you need from me?”

              “Well, uh,” Harry tried. His mind was racing. There were a lot of things that Harry needed from Draco now that he thought about it. A talking-to, a firm hug, a heavy slap—he was letting his mind get away from himself already. There was one thing, though. Harry couldn’t be discussing terms like this without having at least that between them. “There is this one thing I need first.”

              “Anything,” Draco assured him.

              Harry put down the fork and reached out for Draco’s hands to find they were given to him immediately, soft with long, elegant fingers. There was only one way to know now in Harry’s mind, only one thing he needed to check.

              With a squeeze of his hands Harry pulled himself to up to kiss Draco square on the mouth, lips searching for any response. Draco pressed back, fulfilling a dream he’d never admitted he’d harbored since first year. Fireworks erupted around and echoed off the both of their skulls, huddled together closer now in the bed. Harry sent the tray to a nearby table wordlessly and wandlessly and Draco seemed to become all the more enthused for it. Harry was powerful.

              Against the gentle prying of Harry’s lips Draco returned his kiss deeper, firmer. Thrumming with life. When Harry felt himself being pulled in deeper he retracted, wanting to keep a clear head about the decisions he made right now, just like Draco wanted. “That is a satisfactory answer, thank you,” Harry nodded, lips still crying out for more.

              “Had to test the chemistry?” Draco inquired of what Harry had just done.

              “No, I just… I wanted you to know that even outside of these… things we like, I like you. I think the world is so much better with Draco Malfoy in it and I’ve always thought that.”

              Draco kissed him again, this time brief but with greater yearning.

              “Draco…” Harry whispered, fully content to lay here and snog Draco into the next millennia, but they had business to discuss first.

              “Rules,” Draco stated again, the tip of his nose brushing against Harry’s.  

              “Well, maybe if you say what your rules are, I’ll tell you what I honestly think of them.” Harry hadn’t a clue how to navigate this, especially when there was a gorgeous man pressed to his side. Harry made more room for him, and Draco shifted closer.

              “Agreeable indeed,” Draco nodded as he conjured forth the rules he’d been working on for years. “Rule One: If we are to enter into this arrangement it would become a main, monogamous focus. I take this seriously.”

              “I agree,” Harry said more quickly than he thought he would. “I have this strange feeling you’re terrible at sharing.”

              “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Draco defended with a smile. “Rule Two: This room is your Safe Space. If you wish to be unbothered here then it shall be so for as long as you wish it. You can ban me from it if you wish.”

              “Sounds good. I would want to go back to my flat sometimes, too.”

              “Whenever you wish. Now, Rule Three I touched upon before. My physical inspection of your body includes as many manners of updates as you claim comfortable. Everything is on the table for questions.”

              “Like?” Harry asked, raising a brow. He hadn’t let Draco’s hands go and was glad to be clamped on them now. He was nervous even during this, but he pushed on. Harry wanted this, he wanted Draco, and denying and repressing that had only bled poison into his life. It made sense that Draco wanted to check his health, then.

              “I want updates on recreational substances you take when not in my presence. I want to hear about the drinks you have, the joints and cigs you smoke, what have you. You can have all of it, but you need to play safe,” Draco began. “And I’ll want your sexual history, complete, as well as your sexual present, if you will. I don’t let my submissives masturbate without my permission. Would you give up touching yourself, give over control of every orgasm to me?”

              Harry licked his lips to taste what lingered of Draco. “Yeah, okay,” Harry nodded, trying not to have his voice sound so thin. ‘Orgasm’ in Draco’s posh accent made Harry near enact it like a command. “I would.”

              “Rule Four: You must always be honest with your limits, and never push yourself to take more pain or kink than is sane for my sake. I know it’s a shitty word, ‘sane’, but ‘safe, sane, and consensual’ is a movement now, really. Sane, what does sane mean really?” Draco repeated, giving Harry’s hands another little squeeze.

              “We could find out together,” Harry offered in a whisper.

              “Yes, that we could….” Draco moved his hand up Harry’s wrist to his shoulder and behind his neck so he could scratch him gently there. “Do you like nicknames? I do.”

              “I hadn’t noticed,” Harry replied completely deadpan, brows raised. Draco laughed first and then they both laughed. Yes, Harry had seen him at his worst. “But I think you knew I liked them, too. Not the weird kid ones you came up with, but the way you said them.”

              “You like that, hm? Accusatory? Slut, whore, trollop of ill-repute come to sneak into Daddy’s bed?”

              Harry went as red as his pyjamas. “Well, yes.” He moved over more in the bed so Draco could evenly join him. “And I like the sweet ones, too. I can be a brat, and misbehave when I want that kind of attention, but I can be good and follow instructions, too.”

              “I am sure you can,” Draco purred from deep in his throat. Draco’s entire body was responding to this testimony of absolute faith. “It brings us to Rule 5: Discretion. What that means for us, well, is up to you. I am not against informing others of your gentlemanly calls to my house but we really cannot tell most of them the founding principles of why you come here.”

              “I’m helping you with the house,” Harry offered.

              Draco blinked. “Is that a: ‘I’m helping you with the house!’ cover-up or an actual ‘I am helping you with your house’?” He was in deep disbelief if it was the latter, not even allowing himself to imagine that.

              “I said hardworking. Thanks to Neville I always got great marks in Herbology, too. I could take a crack at some flowers, even if they’re just small ones at first. Irises—“ Harry observed of the tray he’d placed to the side. “What do they mean?”

              “Hope, faith, and trust,” Draco replied through his smile. “You have free reign of this mess of a house, Harry. There is literally nothing you could do to make things worse, so, please, have at whatever part tickles your fancy. You really aren’t required to work on it.”

              “I’ll take a crack at it—what the hell? Why not?” Harry’s ‘why not’s of late had been depressing but this one felt imbued with the spirit of Draco’s flowers. Green eyes met silver. “Any more rules?”

              “That’s it for the formal tenets, really. Be good, get what you want, be bad, get something else you want and a limp for a few days,” Draco reviewed aloud.

              Harry sputtered a laugh at that. “Well, damn. ‘Draconian’ sure is right. A fitting name at least,” Harry recalled from Draco’s self-description in the messages. “But I accept the rules, Draco. ‘Hardworking’ was right on my ad, too. I haven’t been living up to it for a long while but right now I feel as if I have a reason to. I have no job to call out on vacation from—I’ve been searching for meaning like this.”

              “We will discuss more before each scene,” Draco assured Harry. “You may always ask questions, or make requests. I appreciate your offer to work on the Manor, I truly do, but you do not have to. I am not your Aunt and Uncle.”

              A smile formed slowly on Harry’s lips, the corners curling up like paper under a flame. “You’re damn right you’re not my Aunt and Uncle, Draco,” Harry retorted, eyes glinting. “You’re my Daddy.”


	6. Daddy Knows Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at last! This is all I've written for now but you can expect more coming your way!

**Chapter 6: Daddy Knows Best**

              Usually it was the patients who got nervous before appointments, but Draco had never had such an important checkup to perform in his entire life as the one he had before him now.

              Harry had bestowed upon him something incredible, something so precious in calling him that name— _Daddy_. Harry was holding a glittering crown above Draco’s head that he now need only rise to meet.

              To himself and to Harry, Draco swore he would ascend to become worthy of such a thing. It was all making him feel uncharacteristically humble, but perhaps that was how he was meant to feel when his old rival, savior of the world, kissed him for the first time and not the other way around.

              It was Harry who had wanted—no, needed—to kiss him. That was Harry’s first addition to their rules, the kiss to seal them. Such a traditionalist Harry Potter seemed to be for his darker appetites advertised in that dirty magazine, having needed the date and the kiss to make a proper start of things.

               Draco’s proper start involved getting a proper look at Harry. He’d sent the man back to his flat and given him thirty minutes to clean up—himself or the rooms, whichever was worse—before he could expect a home visit from Healer Malfoy.

              Harry had seemed just fine with the physical inspection when Draco brought it up before, but once Draco mentioned they’d be conducting the exam in Harry’s flat was when he got visibly sweaty. What, did he have dildos lying about everywhere, or had he just been putting off laundry for a decade? The nerves set in for Draco when he realized he was going to find out the answer to that question, and many other questions by seeing Harry’s living space. With Harry’s mental state he couldn’t picture anything too put-together, but Draco really hoped it wasn’t downright filthy.

              Depression and anxiety made cleaning seem monumental, this Draco knew well, so he wouldn’t be harsh unless food was out in the open.

              Draco spent the last few minutes of the thirty he’d given Harry standing at attention in front of the grand fireplace where the Floo was in the Manor. He counted down the seconds on his watch, comforted by the repetition of the numbers and the constant circular motion of the second hand.

              The bells chimed and Draco didn’t dare waste a second more. He threw down the Floo powder and shouted his destination clearly before the system took him up.

              Where it spat him back out was a humble flat, but thankfully not a dirty one. No dildos either, unfortunately, but maybe Harry had gotten to hide them in the timeframe Draco gave him. Now all Draco could imagine was behind any of these doors lay a sea of sex toys ready to burst forth.

              Harry kissing him like that had jumpstarted Draco’s imagination it seemed, as Harry really was giving him ideas on purpose now, no doubt about it.

              The living room that Draco stood in now looked like the victim of a hasty cleaning spell storm, but was otherwise unremarkable. He did note the Safeword scroll on the coffee table with some delight. Was this where Harry had written his responses? “Harry?” he called out to the flat. The walls were mostly bare, and his voice echoed off of them.

              “Oh, shit! One second!”

              A crash came from one of the closed doors and Draco couldn’t help but giggle imagining Harry trying to hide a pile of sex toys. “Take your time,” Draco allowed him, amused with Harry’s attempts to make this place more presentable to Draco.

              In the meantime Draco set to snooping, because why wouldn’t he, this was a golden opportunity. The kitchen was right next to the living room and said a lot about a man, so Draco went there first. Mostly-clean dishes, acceptable counters, dry basics in the cupboards—but where was all the food? There were snacks, and garnishes, and even some base ingredients but where was the _food_?

              Draco went to the fridge for the moment of truth. He opened the main door and the upper ice box at once to reveal—wow. Nearly completely barren. Draco shook his head. At least there seemed to be a lot of takeout in the trashbin.

              “Hey,” Harry called out from the bathroom door, quickly closing it behind him so Draco couldn’t see how he’d moved all the debris from the main areas into hiding. “You’re here, what, a minute and you’re already spying?”

              “This is patient research,” Draco replied smoothly, closing everything he’d opened with a deliberate look to Harry for each cabinet to express his medical opinion through eyebrow raises. “I don’t need to lecture you on the benefits of a balanced diet, though, _do I_?”

              “Now _that_ would be torture,” Harry countered, rolling his eyes and remembering Draco’s ‘fun at parties’ joke. “Come on, where are we doing this?”

              “This stool looks of suitable height.” Draco pulled one out from the kitchen counter. “Here, sit.” Draco took a quill from his robe pocket, having changed into the white Healer uniform for the effect and for the fact that he kept spare blank patient sheets in the inner chest pocket.

              Harry sat down and tried his best not to reach for the side of his head. He wanted to tug on just a few strands of hair, just one or two thick ones… He shivered. Draco had told him to wear a tank top and pants so he’d done just that, and was feeling properly exposed for it. Thankfully Draco seemed to be keeping his eyeing of him quite tame and medical for the time being.

              “So,” Harry started, sitting up straighter under Draco’s gaze. Harry had been the one to say it, that forbidden word to start off this whole thing, and oh, how worth it everything was to see Draco’s face when he did. Harry could live through this, even if it was awkward, because he’d already made the most mortifying step, right? “I’m not calling you that _all_ of the time, Draco.”

              “Please,” Draco responded brightly as he set up his quill to take notes. “Only use it when you feel moved to—I mean that.” Draco paused once everything was all set up and ready. “It sounded lovely,” Draco told Harry, voice low. “The way you said it.”

              Swallowing hard, Harry tried his best not to turn entirely red now that his shoulders were out in the open. Even they tended to turn pink when he got embarrassed. “Thanks.”

              “Shall we begin? Please, stand up for me.”

              Harry stood from the stool and stared forward. Was he supposed to act a certain way?

              “And please, do remember to breathe, Harry. Relax,” Draco instructed, pressing his palm between Harry’s shoulderblades to steady him.

              “Right, relax,” Harry breathed.

              “I’ll talk through everything I do,” Draco informed him, a tactic for the more skittish patients. “And I already have your measurements from the muggle shop yesterday so that’s quite a bit off my list. Here.” Draco spoke the incantation to summon a scale. “Step on,” Draco invited and recorded the result before transfiguring the scale into a stethoscope. “And I assume you know what this does?” Draco joked.

              With every eyeroll out of Harry came a laugh as well. “Yes, I’m meant to yell into it, right?”

              Draco made a horrified but amused face as he approached with the cold metal dial. “Please don’t actually do that.”

              “I won’t,” Harry said.

              Trusting his word on that, Draco put in the earpieces and directed the charm-heated dial to Harry’s sternum. “Breathe in,” Draco instructed. “And out.” He repeated this process several times, sliding his hand beneath Harry’s tank top to get more accurate readings than listening over the clothes. “And in, and out.”

              Focusing on his breathing did help, Harry had learned about himself in therapy. Harry was in control of his breath now, and in control of his hands as they hadn’t gone to tear out his hair once yet today.

              “Your heart is strong,” Draco murmured. “And lungs clear.”

              Harry had known this, but the information still made him smile. Hearing it from Draco was different.

              “You may sit again.” Draco withdrew the stethoscope, putting it to the side to bring out a simple wooden slat. “Now, say ‘ah’.”

              “Ahhh,” Harry said, voice cracking slightly as the tongue depressor pushed down harder than expected. Whatever he saw down there Draco seemed to approve of, and moved on to cast light into his ears to check them next.

              “All clear. Now, if you could please remove your glasses so I can check your eyes.”

              Harry swallowed and removed the circular frames. He placed them to the side and looked back up to Draco. “Please don’t make me look at one of those ‘E’ charts,” he half-begged. They were the bane of his existence as a child, the Dursleys furious with him each time he got one wrong because that meant he needed glasses and they had to spend money on him.

              “While it would be fun to see you fumble with one,” Draco admitted, lighting the tip of his wand and holding it before Harry’s eyes. “I’m testing your reflexes here. Try and keep both eyes on the light.” He moved the wand back and forth slowly, watching how Harry’s eyes twitched to attention trying to follow it.

              From Harry’s point of view a blurry man was waving the sun in his face but thankfully it was over soon.

              “You can put your glasses back on, now. Outstretch your arms next—I want to see if your wandwork got any sloppier after school and if it’s giving you tendinitis.”

              “Was good enough to beat you in a duel every time we tried,” Harry recalled airily while Draco pretended he didn’t hear. In the background the quill scratched away at Harry’s patient for and he tried to sneak a peek at what it was writing.

              Draco inspected Harry’s arms, coming to focus on his right forearm, manipulating the muscle there with some focus. “Hmmm.”

              Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “’Hmmm’ what?”

              “Oh, this here, hm…”

              “What?” Harry demanded, eyes wide.

              “Yeah, this right here? We’re gonna need to amputate,” Draco finally got to his punchline, laughter coming uncontrollably when he saw Harry’s face turn from concerned to enraged.

              “You--! Fuck you,” Harry said and bit back a laugh of his own. “You had me worried.”

              “You don’t have much to be worried about physically, Harry. You’re near underweight, but not at any risk,” Draco gave it to him straight, figuring Harry didn’t need sugarcoating right now. “I say that as a Healer, I point out, because I don’t want to encourage or give you any kind of complex about your weight. As long as you’re eating healthily,” Draco said with a pointed glare at the fridge. “Your body would carry any weight well. It’s your stress that makes you ache, I can tell you have pains just from the way you’re sitting wound so tight. You’re a handsome man, Harry, haven’t I told you that?”

              Harry’s outrage from the joke was all but forgotten when Draco spoke like this. “You have,” Harry nodded, smiling and casting his gaze down bashfully.

              “Good bone structure, excellent, soft skin—you’re quite the specimen.”

              Now Harry was really going red. “Thanks.”

              “Now, we’ve reached the portion where I ask a handsome young thing like you what you’ve been getting up to with the boys,” Draco prefaced. The way he said ‘the boys’ made Harry laugh so at least this wasn’t too uncomfortable just yet. “I want to hear your sexual history in a greater capacity than simply being a Healer,” he made clear. “So please, start from the beginning, and with as much detail as you deem necessary. I want to hear everything you want to say.”

              Harry swallowed. He’d known this was coming. Without the social lubricant of alcohol this was going to be rougher than the discussion at the bar had been. Harry was glad they’d had that discussion, though, considering where they were now.

              They had _kissed_ , and the world hadn’t ended or anything. Harry wanted to do it again, but was having trouble figuring out where that factored into a Healer’s appointment.

              “Well, my first time was with a boy my age. It was after the war, after I got my own place and things started to calm down a little. I went to the busiest club in London that night because I—well. I had almost just died a virgin, Draco.”

              Draco held back a little laugh. “Sorry,” he said for laughing.

              “No, it is funny,” Harry allowed. “And since this is no longer me speaking strictly with my Healer, I want to hear all of this from you, too.”

              Harry’s interest in him made the eleven year-old boy in Draco go absolutely googly-eyed. He was reining in the desire for sappy looks as an adult now, but only just barely. “Of course, you can ask me anything you like.”

              “When was your first time?”

              “Fifth year, with a boy in the year above us, Klaus Weber. He’s some big name banker now, got a wife and kids, and we haven’t spoken since he graduated and the war started up,” Draco shrugged. “We were both experimenting, not looking for anything lasting, and that worked just fine for me.”

              Harry nodded slowly, trying to imagine what that life was like—the life of the kids who’d actually gotten laid at Hogwarts. He remembered being jealous of them, and not really understanding it, but they really had been just children then.

              “But please, I would love to hear the end to your story. A couple of sloppy blowjobs in the broom closet wasn’t exactly the time of my life,” Draco snorted.

              Harry couldn’t help but laugh with him on that one. “Yeah, well, my first time was pretty good. I went to the club, and I was just so, so _frustrated_. I think I must have looked angry as hell, but apparently that worked for this guy. He was the first to approach me, first to buy me a drink, so he was Mr. Right as far as I was concerned. That, and he was a muggle, so he had no idea who I was. That was great.”

              “If you’d gone to a wizarding gay bar everyone would have been all over you, that’s true,” Draco nodded. “Some in the wizarding LGBTQ community can keep secrets, but some can’t. You would have been exposed in more ways than one.”

              “Exactly,” Harry nodded. “So Kenny—Kenny Peters, was his name. He was tall.” Harry forgot to describe the rest of him because he was imagining him too hard. “Right, er, tall and good-looking. So the conversation got back to what we were doing for the night and where we lived and…” Harry made some vague hand motions. “I went home with him. He showed me a lot of stuff, and I think he only realized I was a virgin like halfway through. I was scared to tell him, though, and he was scared to bring it up after so we never did talk much about it. But it was good for me, and I’m pretty sure it was good for him, so… no harm no foul?”

              Draco had promised not to judge and so he just nodded. “I’m glad it was good for you. Did you find yourself less frustrated after that night?”

              Now that he wasn’t sure on. “In some ways, yes. In some ways, more frustrated than before. Kenny was nice and all but he didn’t want a relationship so that was that.” Harry shifted on the stool, spine cracking with the movement.

              “Wound _so_ tight,” Draco remarked again.

              “My bones feel like they’re in the wrong place sometimes,” Harry remarked a bit miserably. “You weren’t wrong about the pain.”

              There were a few things that Draco could think to do to relieve that pain, but they had to get through this first. “How many men did you sleep with after Kenny?”

              “Four more. The one after Kenny lasted the longest—Sam, two months. We had dates and things, and then some weekends together.” Harry frowned to remember how he’d hoped for more back then. “How many men have you slept with?”

              “I’ve had direct contact with seventeen different men, but there have also been cases in the clubs where others watched and interacted,” Draco admitted freely.

              Harry’s throat clenched. Draco Malfoy, clad in leather and absolutely dripping with men while one took care of him between his legs? Yes, this was like no Healer’s appointment he’d ever had before. “Wow,” was all Harry could say before realizing that was probably an insensitive thing to say in the first place. “I mean, like, in a ‘good for you’ kind of way.”

              “I think I know what you mean,” Draco nodded, signaling with his gaze to Harry’s pants.

              When Harry looked down he was horrified to realize he was getting stiff from all this talk. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry—“

              “Don’t apologize,” Draco interjected quickly. “It’s a natural reaction. You needn’t ever apologize for that.”

              “I mean, it’s not even fully, you know,” Harry felt the need to point out.

              “Right,” Draco grinned. “I’m sure. Well, my longest relationship was half a year, when I was twenty-three to twenty-four. It was a wonderful introduction to bondage. Learned to tie my ropes by hand that year. His name was Alfie, and he liked to be completely immobilized.”

              Harry licked his lips. Draco took note.

              “Harry,” he started carefully. “Might you like something like that?”

              “Yes,” Harry answered quickly.

              “Then we’ve arrived at the last part of my exam.” Draco took out a blank sheet of parchment from his pocket for the quill. What he was about to write down did not fit into any hospital intake category. “Where I ask you what you like, what you love, what you want to try, and what you don’t. I already have some answers from earlier, but let’s build a rapport, shall we?”

              Draco was so animated about this, and that kind of sincerity couldn’t be faked. If Draco wasn’t careful then he’d slither his way into Harry’s heart caring about him like this. “Yes, let’s, then,” Harry replied.

              “I would like to indulge you in your lingerie fantasies you mentioned,” Draco began. “Is that something you’re open to?”

              Had Harry mentioned that? Well, he had gone on quite a bit about the material of the clothes those women wore. Harry was a tactile man, and everything from the dessert they’d had last night to now was a physical phenomenon with Draco. This man made Harry’s whole body feel charged, from his crown to his toes and some key spaces in between.

              “Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I’ve never tried it, I’ve been too embarrassed.” He laughed even though nothing about that was funny, rubbing the back of his neck searching for a hair to pull.

              “There’s no need to be embarrassed. I think you’d look darling in some knickers and heels,” Draco declared proudly. “I’ve donned my fair share before.”

              “You have? Are there pictures? Now I need pictures.”

              “You can take some yourself later. Down, boy,” Draco teased. “You’re an eager one, aren’t you?”

              Harry nodded. “I would also like,” he now had the footing to say. “For you to indulge me in other things. I’ve never tried much of it, but… I think I would like to be spanked.”

              Watching Harry Potter squirm and ask him for pain was as close to a religious experience as Draco had ever had. “Yes, I would be honored to provide that for you. Have you given any thought to the device? Hand, cane, crop, paddle…”

              “Yes,” Harry said. “To all of those. And more. I haven’t tried much, but I want to try.” His cock had hardened to an almost painful point, throbbing as he spoke. It made him feel so easy, and that shame only fueled further desire.

              Draco’s eyes were centered on Harry’s cock through his pants, outlined from how erect it was. It had grown considerably so Harry’s earlier comment about it not being at its full potential yet was accurate, it seemed. A grower, not a shower. How cute. “Stand up,” Draco spoke like a command.

              Harry stood up, hands folded behind his back.

              “You know your safeword? To snap if your mouth is full?” Draco reconfirmed.

              “Yes,” Harry nodded, a shiver overtaking his whole body.

              “It seems we have quite the starting point figured out, then,” Draco said with a wicked smile. “All I need is your permission to start.”

              “You have it,” Harry assured him. “ _Please_.” Please take control, please make this easy for him.

              “Oh, so you do know how to be polite?” Draco taunted, eyes going dark with lust. His shoulders shifted, his whole posture changing, slanted. “You’ll do well to remember your ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s with me. I like my boys polite. Sometimes I like them rude too, but you ought to be polite today. You do want to make a good first impression, don’t you?”

              Harry nodded.

              “Speak when you’re spoken to.”

              “Ah, yes,” Harry nodded.

“Good boy.”

              Those two words almost buckled Harry at the knees. Draco took note as Harry tried to recover from it, hard and wanting. 

Draco shed his Healer’s coat into a puddle of white on the floor. Beneath it he wore a white button-down and black trousers, black pants beneath. “Now, let me _really_ see what I’m working with here. Take your shirt off.”

              “Yes.” Harry easily slid out of the tank top, tossing it to the counter and looking back up at Draco. Now there was one tall, good-looking man. His hair looked like gold spun to platinum silk the way the light bounced off of it. This whole flat looked really different now that he’d taken the blackout curtains down in a panic.

              The sun was an invariably good thing with Draco around, even if he whined about how he burned, because the sun truly made Draco shine.

              Draco’s bright eyes scanned the newly-revealed flesh with a lick of his lips. He stepped up, prowling forth like a panther onto his prey. “Tell me,” Draco said, pressing an index finger to the bottom of Harry’s left nipple. “Are these sensitive for you, Harry?” Draco got his answer right away at how Harry gasped, the pink flesh perking up to be touched.

              “Yes,” Harry whispered back anyway, figuring it would be rude not to. He let out a squeak when Draco closed his thumb and forefinger over the pink nub, rubbing between his fingertips as Harry squirmed harder than ever before.

              “Very sensitive, then,” Draco said and released the nipple. “Perhaps that’s why you want a bra so badly, hm? Keep those perky little tits safe.” Draco reached out for the right one and pinched it.

              Harry jumped, cock straining against his pants all the while.

              “I think they’re pretty,” Draco decided. “You’re going to be fun to play dress-up with. You want to keep playing with Daddy?”

              “Yes, yes I do,” Harry nodded, his stomach flipping to hear Draco call himself that with such confidence. It made Harry want to say it again, but how without sounding awkward or forced?

              “Then take off your pants. I want a better look at what’s mine,” Draco ordered.

              With some effort because of his erection Harry slid off his pants, leaving himself completely naked in front of Draco who remained completely clothed.

              “Stay still,” said Draco as he began a prowl in a circle around Harry, around the stool he’d been sitting on. Draco pulled it out from behind him and put it back underneath the counter, eyes on the prize the whole time: Harry’s beautiful arse. “Oh, yes, now there we go.” Draco slid his hands down Harry’s bare back, slow and steady, until they came upon the globes of his arse to squeeze and fondle them.

              “Oh?” Harry let out.

              “Yes, ‘oh’ as in ‘oh, that’s the sweetest arse I’ve seen in my life’,” Draco confirmed.

              Harry laughed, disbelieving but flattered. “Thank you.”

              “You’re very welcome, pet.” Draco brought both hands back to give Harry’s cheeks a smack. The sound was loud enough to reverberate off the bare walls.

              The sting was light but perfectly present, sending chills all up Harry’s spine with his surprised yelp.

              “I’ll paint you red another time. For now I have one last thing I need to check,” Draco narrated just as he said he would in the beginning of this appointment. Draco walked back around to face Harry, all-too happy to be greeted with the sight of his hard-on.

              Without hesitation Draco sank to his knees in front of Harry, earning a breathy gasp from the other man along the way down.

              “This cock of yours will do quite nicely,” Draco approved. A small bead of precome had formed on the head of it, and swelled as Draco spoke. “Ready, willing, and thick,” Draco went on, hand reaching out to give it a few preliminary strokes from base to tip.

              Harry’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head. “That feels,” Harry whispered. “So good.”

              “I bet you like my hand better than yours,” Draco agreed, loosening his grip and coming down to trace Harry’s ballsack. Harry’s hair stood on end, whole body clenching to have such a sensitive place touched so lightly. “How often do you masturbate, Harry?”

              “Um,” Harry said with eyelashes still fluttering at how Draco was tracing him with the tips of his fingers. “A lot. I’m here a lot, alone, and sometimes I use it to motivate myself. Like—“ Harry couldn’t believe he was admitting this out loud. “Touching myself in the shower as a reward for taking one.”

              Draco’s face moved closer and closer to Harry’s crotch as if magnetized, eyes searching the deep ‘V’ that led to Harry’s prick. “And yet you’ve agreed not to touch yourself so you can be mine. How interesting.” Draco brought his thumb up, smearing the precome in circles around Harry’s head.

              “Yes,” Harry gasped. Yes to not touching himself because when Draco touched him like this his own palm seemed weak in comparison.

              “And how often do you pull your hair out?” Draco’s other hand smoothed over a bald patch in Harry’s fluff above his cock.

              Harry froze. “I… there’s usually not anyone down there inspecting.”

              “Well I am,” Draco stated. “Is it a nervous habit?”

              With a burning face Harry looked bashfully away. Face twisting slightly, Draco pinched his thigh. “Ow!”

              “Speak when you’re spoken to,” Draco repeated firmly.

              “Yeah, I mean, I get anxious,” Harry spat out, the urge to pull sneaking up on him now.

              Draco nodded, processing. “I don’t want you hurting yourself, but don’t hide it from me. We can work on this together if you like. Ah, here, I’m ruining the mood, aren’t I? Silly Daddy.” Draco moved forward and kissed a line up Harry’s prick, drawing a shuddery moan from him. Those lips of his were so warm. “Can I ever make it up to you?” Draco asked slyly.

              Harry laughed. This man was unafraid to call him on his bullshit, but at least he was offering to lick his wounds after he’d inflicted them. “Yeah, I think you might be close to finding a way.” That, and Harry felt almost… relieved? It was out in the open now, his shameful secret he’d been working on in therapy to no avail for years, and he hadn’t had to explain himself.

              With a long, wet kiss to Harry’s cockhead Draco found himself smiling. “You’ve been very good for me today, Harry,” Draco spoke against his salty skin. “I can tell you like it when I say you’re a good boy.”

              “I want to be good,” Harry said, voice thin. It was hard to not push up against Draco’s plush lips on him. “I want to do good.”

              “You have, Harry. You’re a very good boy.” Draco’s lips parted to take Harry’s cock in his mouth, moving up inch by precious inch until his nose could touch Harry’s flat stomach.

              Harry let out a moan to wake the dead seeing Draco practically inhale him like that. What kind of sex god was this man? He swallowed around him and Harry’s moaned again, hands flying to Draco’s hair so he could touch him.

              Encouraged by this, Draco began working his tongue along the velvety bottom of Harry’s cock. Positive reinforcement would work well with this one, and he took to his role with an almost amusing ease, like Harry had been waiting for this moment the whole time. Had he expected this when he saw Draco in that bar? Either way, Draco was going to make damn well sure he didn’t regret it.

              When Draco began bobbing his head Harry knew he was a goner. Every wet noise, every smack of his lips was the filthiest, most beautiful symphony he’d ever heard. “Draco,” Harry cried out, hands loosely clinging to his hair now so that the blonde could go at his own pace—which seemed to be fast to begin with. “D-Daddy,” he tried next, heat swirling in his stomach. It felt so right to say, but still held so much shame for Harry.

              Draco hummed around his mouthful in response to Harry granting him that title again. He worked up and down Harry’s cock as deep as he could each time, hands gripping Harry’s thighs tight to keep him steady for this font of pleasure he was delivering.

              Harry’s groans climbed the walls, longer and louder as Draco worked him like he was the one being paid for it. “I’m gonna—“ Harry warned with a full-body shiver. “I’m close…”

              Good. Draco wasn’t testing how long he’d last, no, this was a treat for Harry’s sake and he fully intended to receive him like a sacrament on his knees. Draco’s eyes flicked up to Harry’s, watching the man watch himself disappear into Draco’s mouth. Yes, yes, Draco urged with his tongue, his hollowed-out cheeks for Harry to let go, to fall apart.

              A tremor started up in Harry’s thighs. As his eyes rolled back, hot chills overtaking him, Harry could only say one word about all of this: “ _Fuck_.”

              The back of Draco’s throat was hit with a rush of Harry’s seed, already prepared to swallow it down in greedy gulps. Draco kept sucking the oversensitive member listening with great delight to how Harry expressed his gratitude in shaky little moans that were almost sobs. He pulled off once he’d been drained entirely, sending a signature smirk Harry’s way. “We can do that later, if you like.”

              A moan turned to laughter, and Draco laughed too. “That was brilliant, seriously,” Harry insisted, all tingly and lightheaded. He sank to his own knees next, both hands on Draco’s cheeks. Harry looked him in the eye and made himself say what he really wanted to say. “Thank you, Daddy.” Before Draco could react Harry pulled him in for a rough kiss, tongue pushing at Draco’s lips so he could taste himself on him.

              Draco had long been ignoring the throbbing between his thighs to focus on Harry, but when he said filth like that so sweet and soft Draco’s whole body strained against his clothing. It was suddenly far too hot and oppressive with Harry kissing him like this, tongue tracing the backs of Draco’s teeth. Draco stretched the kiss on longer, enjoying the feeling of Harry’s exploration.

              When they finally had to breathe they broke off from one another, panting and smiling. Draco kept Harry close, resting their foreheads together.

              From this angle Harry could see how pleasing him had affected Draco clear as day in his trousers. Draco looked big. Harry wet his lips. “Can I?” Harry asked, eyes moving between Draco’s and the outline of his cock in his trousers. “Er—may I?”

              Draco laughed breathlessly again, nuzzling their foreheads together. “You want to be proper and please your Daddy, hm?”

              “Yes, yes I do,” Harry urged. He never considered himself a selfish lover, and being able to see Draco Malfoy come undone from his doing was the subject of many a wet dream of Harry’s. He wanted to be the one who pleased him in every way.

              “Then you can show me,” Draco remarked, motioning to the buttons on his shirt.

              Harry’s hands flew to them, undoing button by agonizing button until he could finally expose Draco’s chest with one swift pushing off of fabric over his shoulders. So fit, so gorgeous, so—scarred. Harry held back a noise of surprise upon seeing Draco’s bare chest. The slashes were long-healed but Merlin, how they looked like they had been deep.

              Harry’s hesitance was to be expected, Draco supposed, but it didn’t make it any less chilling to see Harry’s carefree mirth drain from his eyes. “Hey,” Draco said, turning Harry’s chin up so they could look each other in the face. “It doesn’t hurt, not anymore. Don’t you give me that look.”

              “Sorry,” Harry said about the scars and about the fact that he was apologizing at all, that he was being weird and lingering on this.

              With a huff of annoyance Draco grabbed Harry’s wrists and pulled them in, placing Harry’s hands over the scars on his chest. “Then show me how sorry,” he demanded. With past partners Draco had always been in control of how they saw the scars, of what story he spun for them, but Harry knew the cold, naked truth of him lying on the bathroom floor sobbing and nearly bleeding out. It made Draco angry even though he’d long forgiven Harry, to see him still hung up on it when Draco was trying not to be anymore.

              Draco hauled him further in and their lips met again, frenzied. He channeled his anger into the kiss until it turned soft, until it turned to affection for this ridiculous boy with a guilty conscience that deserved to be soothed. None of the war had been his fault, not even that spell. Draco swirled their tongues together and felt Harry’s grip on his chest tighten.

              Yes, Draco silently impressed upon each kiss. Yes, yes, yes.

              Harry went for Draco’s trousers next, unbuttoning and unzipping until he could push them down to his knees. Getting them fully off would be hard like this.

              As if Draco had read Harry’s mind he moved back off his knees, lowering himself down to the hardwood floor of Harry’s flat, onto his back. Harry kept up the kisses all the way down, moving his hands along the pale thighs he’d exposed. Draco had the softest skin Harry had ever felt on anyone, man or woman or otherwise.

              Draco wriggled his trousers the rest of the way off along with the shoes he’d worn in, their clothes as sprawled out on the floor as the pair of them were.

              “May I,” Harry asked, lips moving with Draco’s and parting only to breathe and get out fragments of sentences. “Please,” Harry added. “Suck Daddy’s cock?” Even though Harry had just come he felt a burst of heat in his stomach every time he or Draco said that word. “You were so good to me, and I want to be good to you in return.”

              “You certainly may, my sweet boy,” Draco answered, voice but a purr in the deep back of his throat. His cock was harder than ever to see Harry’s confidence growing.

              Harry grinned uncontrollably to be called sweet in return. That made it hard to kiss Draco but Harry swore to try most valiantly to. He gave Draco a few more pecks on the mouth before dipping down below his chin to kiss along his jawline. Draco Malfoy was a vision exposed on his floor, those doubtlessly-designer pants of his a cheery lavender.

              “Figured you might be seeing these sometime soon,” Draco commented haughtily to see Harry looking at them. “Hoping, really.”

              So Draco really had worn special underwear just for him? Harry’s chest fluttered. It was so intimate. “Let me take a closer look,” Harry said as his joking excuse for moving down the rest of Draco’s body. He enjoyed the view the whole way, slopes of pale skin leading Harry to the last piece of clothing that stood between them. “You are so _damn_ gorgeous. It’s just not fair.”

              That made Draco laugh. “Not fair? That’s a new one.”

              “It’s the truth,” Harry stuck to it, mouth hovering over Draco’s stomach. He gave the skin above Draco’s waistband several kisses before moving even further down. “You’re so handsome—how is one person allowed to be so handsome?”

              Draco laughed even brighter, hands propping himself back up on his elbows so he could see every little reaction of the very naked Harry Potter to unveiling the cock he supposedly wanted to suck. Honestly there Harry was kissing him and touching him and still Draco found it too good to be true that Harry could even ever fancy him, let alone to this extent.

              “And upon further inspection I must admit I do really like these,” Harry nodded of the lavender undergarment. He kissed the bulge in them experimentally, happy to hear a slight hiss from Draco when he did. Harry wanted to be worthy, wanted to prove himself skillful enough to keep around. “I think I might like them better off of you, though.”

              “Then what are you waiting for?” Draco challenged, silver eyes burning.

              Harry was waiting for that, apparently, because when issued a taunt his first, instinctual response was to hook his fingers under the waistband of Draco’s pants and slide them down. Draco’s cock was freed at last, and Harry feasted his eyes upon what he’d dreamed of for so long.

              He swallowed instinctually just looking at such a sizable load, long and wide in places that made Harry’s neglected insides shiver with glee. What it might be like for this cock to be inside of him after a few years of only taking his own fingers was a mystery. Would it hurt like the first time? Harry hoped it would with Draco, and then some additional pain thrown in just for fun.

              Being a tactile learner Harry reached for Draco’s member to better understand it, palming it to feel how hard and thick it was with an approving hum.

              “I like this, too,” Harry said, giving both of Draco’s cockhead a tentative kiss and rubbing his shaft.

              “It certainly likes you,” Draco sighed dreamily, head lolling back slightly at the much-needed friction.

              “Good.” More sure of himself this time Harry kissed around the crown of Draco’s cock, tongue flicking out in swipes of wet heat up and down his length.

              A shiver took over Draco’ body. Harry’s tongue, velvety soft, was an absolute blessing bestowed upon him. It was true, then, everything Harry said about wanting Draco, wanting him to be his Daddy—and that was overwhelming. The only thing that Draco could think to do to properly express his gratitude was moan from his raw, well-fucked throat.

              Seeing every micro-expression of joy that flitted across Draco’s stunning features was something Harry would never, ever forget. He would be thinking about this on his death bed surely, about how life was probably worth it because at least he’d made Draco Malfoy whimper like he was desperate for it.

              Harry decided not to prolong his teasing. He opened his mouth wide, covering teeth with his lips and sliding them down over the head and down further over the spiraling veins.

              “Fuck,” Draco gasped to have such hot, wet walls close around him. His arms were shaking slightly now, and he had to fight to keep propped up and looking at Harry.

              With a slight hum of agreement—fuck, indeed—Harry took more and more in, gagging slightly and pulling off, but then going in and trying again. He was woefully out of practice. Harry swore that what he lacked in experience he would make up for in eagerness, in willingness to try and put his all into it.

              Draco took note of all of this, and found the story the facts told to be quite endearing. “That’s it,” Draco murmured encouragingly, reaching out to cup the shell of Harry’s ear. He had such handsome little ears. “Merlin, that’s good…”

              Harry took heart in Draco’s words. Whatever Harry’s shortcomings—he certainly couldn’t take Draco as deep as Draco had taken him—it seemed that Draco was genuinely enjoying himself. Harry let himself relax at that. He was doing good; he was being good.

              “Yes,” Draco gasped when Harry’s tongue pressed up against the vein on the underside of his cock, and saw stars when Harry licked it dedicatedly. “Harry,” Draco tried because he hadn’t said his name in the throes of passion just yet and he wanted to see how he reacted. “Harry, my sweet boy…”

              The licking became hurried, Harry’s head beginning to bob slightly as he focused on how his lips were sealed as tightly as possible around Draco, swallowing back when he could do so without choking. He came close a couple of times, something he figured Draco must have loved from the way he gripped the side of his head when his throat convulsed.

              Harry’s glasses were fogged with the heat rolling off of them but Harry refused to look away from Draco. He stared him down from between his legs, eyelashes fluttering to show his appreciation while he continued to suck as hard as he could.

              Draco’s toes started to curl under, each movement of Harry’s sending sparks of higher and higher voltage up and down his body. “You,” Draco gasped between strained noises of joy. “Look perfect like this—you’re right where you belong.”

              At that Harry nodded his head even faster. Even though he worried about his skills he was so carefree here, on his hands and knees pleasuring another man.

              “Oh, sweetie,” Draco gasped. “If you keep on like this Daddy’s going to come right down your throat.” He didn’t expect Harry to swallow as he had.

              It was from that lack of expectation that Harry wanted to swallow at least ten times more. He would show Draco how much he wanted him, all of him.

              Harry wanted his come, wanted it in his mouth and on his chest and face and splattering the deep walls inside of himself. Harry loved the hot rush of a man spilling his seed inside of his ass, breeding him deep and thorough like it might actually stick. Harry wanted this, and he wanted to see what Draco’s face looked like when it happened.

              The orgasm came barreling up Draco’s body and there was not a thing he could do but lay back and groan, letting the wave of sensation carry him where it willed. Harry didn’t seem to be easing off and instead clamped on even harder with his hands on his hips, sucking and licking right up until the rush of fluid came.

              “Harry!” Draco cried out roughly, a tremor overtaking his legs as he spilled and spilled inside of Harry’s mouth. “So good, so good, oh, fuck…”

              Harry sucked until he couldn’t anymore, choking only a little in the process of swallowing down Draco’s precious seed. Harry felt him begin to go soft in his mouth and knew he had accomplished his mission. That felt bloody incredible even beyond physical sensation, the emotional satisfaction of being the one to make Draco come with his name on his lips.

              Dazed, Draco let his elbows fall out from under him, fully laying back as he panted and shivered in the glorious aftershocks. “Harry,” Draco said again just to say his name. “Come here, get back up here,” he urged.

              Harry wasted no time at all doing just that. He let Draco slide from between his lips and crawled back up his body, coming to rest where they could be eye-to-eye. “How was that?” Harry asked, his own voice mirroring how Draco’s sounded now.

              “That,” said Draco as his arms moved up to wrap around Harry. “Was spectacular. Come over here, yes, come closer, rest on me.”

              With a happy noise Harry laid his weight on Draco, his face pressed to the crook of the blonde’s neck where he could kiss the short hairs there.

              Draco smiled to receive such sweet kisses after something so raunchy. Harry really was his sweet boy, wasn’t he? Or a sweet boy, since Draco still wasn’t sure if Harry really wanted to be his. He hoped this was enough to show him, enough to convince him this arrangement would be more than beneficial to them both.

              Harry took a few deep breaths relaxing on Draco. He was so comfortable, and from this angle Harry could kiss on Draco’s long, elegant neck as much as he pleased.

              “Thank you,” Harry whispered.

              “Thank you,” Draco returned with a haughty laugh.

              “Thank you for holding me after,” Harry clarified with some red in his cheeks.

              Draco smoothed back Harry’s hair and wiped the fog from his glasses. “Of course, sweetheart. I’m not going to leave you to drop on your own, not ever.”

              Comforted by this, Harry closed his eyes and hummed.

              The two lay in silence, bodies slick with sweat beginning to dry. Draco held Harry tight, and in return Harry held on like a drowning man to a raft.

              “Definitely my best Healer’s visit. Your house calls sure are something,” Harry remarked in hopes of making Draco laugh again.

              And thank Merlin, how Draco laughed. “I don’t do them for just anyone, you know,” he chuckled. “But after such rigorous exercise I also must recommend we eat and drink lots of water now, if you’re asking my expert opinion.”

              Harry laughed, too. “Sure, we can do that,” he said, hand sprawled across Draco’s chest moving to rest over his heart. “You like Chinese take-out?”

              “Sure,” Draco said though he honestly didn’t have it often. “One of your staple meals, I can tell.”

              “Yeah, well, maybe not for long,” Harry replied. “I mean, they don’t really have Dim Sum in Wiltshire, now do they? Perks of being magic I guess, I can Floo back here whenever I want.”

              Draco’s eyes widened and he sat up a little, forcing Harry to do the same. “You can’t mean…?”

              “Oh, but I do mean it,” Harry said. “Did you expect me not to after _that_? Draco, when we were, you know, I felt so damn good and not just in the obvious way. My head was clear, my heart was lighter, and I felt like, like I don’t know, I had a purpose again.”

              Now that absolutely floored Draco on the floor. He gaped, assuming this all to be too good to be true again because he really, really wasn’t used to things working out for him anymore.

              “I’m not saying you’ve cured my obvious depression because not even the Healer I’ve been seeing for ten years can do that, but it’s like—I don’t know. You make me happy, and not just any old happy, but hopeful. You make me feel like there’s a tomorrow to look forward to, and like I’m a useful and meaningful part of that tomorrow.” Harry realized he was rambling. “I… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, and I know it’s only been a short amount of time, but with you I’m just more alive.”

              “Oh, Harry…” Draco said quietly, hand reaching up to caress his cheek and feeling his heart clench when Harry instinctively leaned into that hand. “I feel the same about you. Merlin, the thought of me coming home after a long day to _you_ , to this—I would be looking forward to you all through my shifts.”

              That made Harry smile. “Then what am I waiting for, really?” he asked. “I need to order takeout and pack my bags.”

              Draco’s heart fluttered erratically. “You really mean that?” Draco questioned for a final time, looking deep in Harry’s eyes for the answer or any trace of deception.

              “I do,” Harry nodded, resolute. “Will you have me?”

              “Yes,” Draco replied. “Without a doubt, without hesitation: yes, of course.”

              Harry smiled again, this time bigger and thank goodness it was, because at least those high smiling cheeks of his could then cover up the fact that he looked about ready to cry. “Thank you, Daddy. You won’t regret this,” he whispered and drew Draco in for a tight but awkwardly-angled hug on the floor.

              “The things you do to me when you call me that…” Draco murmured low, releasing the hug so he could look him in the eye again. “My sweet little minx, you know exactly what you do to me, don’t you? Come, come.” Draco moved to be the first to stand so he could extend a helping hand down to Harry. “If you keep batting your eyelashes at me like that we’ll never get you packed up. Order your takeout, Harry, because regardless of what you’re putting in your suitcase I’m buying you a whole new wardrobe. Do I make myself clear?”

              Harry shrugged. “There’s only a few things I insist on keeping, so, sure.” He took Draco’s hand and stood, admiring the mess of clothes they’d made on the floor.

              “Oh, Harry, I think this is the beginning of something beautiful, don’t you?” Draco prompted because he wanted to hear it back, now holding both of Harry’s hands again.

              “I do,” Harry nodded. “And if you do too, then, well.” Harry squeezed Draco’s hands, giving himself over to him in a transference of power that he’d been looking to get rid of for ages. “Daddy knows best.”


	7. Brahms' Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I put my tumblr on my dating profiles which is linked to my AO3 and somebody unmatched me after telling me I was a creep for writing this. Here’s to the crazy, kinky concept of two adults consensually enjoying one another. And also all the actual kinks. Cheers!

**Chapter 7: Brahms’ Lullaby**

              The first night in this agreement in the Manor Draco insisted they sleep apart again. He would tuck Harry in again as well, but it was important for him to develop a sense of independence in his room if it was to truly be his. Harry could choose to sleep in Draco’s room any other night but tonight.

              All that contemplation ran the risk of Harry running for the hills upon realizing what a mistake he’d made while horny, but if that were to happen then Draco preferred it happen sooner rather than later. He wanted to invest himself fully in this, and that wouldn’t be possible if he was always afraid lack of contact with Harry would make the other man change his mind about being here.

              The Manor could be imposing in everything it needed doing. It could also be imposing because while the structure and foundation changed, it was on this spot that Harry’s friends were tortured, where people were killed. There were no literal ghosts in this house, thankfully, but some came in dreams to Draco. Harry suffered nightmares as Draco did doubtlessly, and out of courtesy Draco would always offer him a way out of this house with its haunting absences.

              It had to be hard for Harry, Draco imagined as he folded the blanket over his chest and tucked it in around him. Tonight’s pair of pyjamas were a mint green, custom-ordered on rush in Harry’s exact size. “And if you need anything else don’t be afraid to wake me,” Draco went on.

              “What about that ‘purpose of life’ job you’ve got?” Harry poked fun because he was a little jealous of it, too.

              “I love it so much I’ve got vacation days stocked up for weeks. I’m taking as many as I need indefinitely to train you. If you still want it in the morning tomorrow then we’ll begin. As far as training goes you need a schooling like you’ve never had before, and I can give it to you if you really want to be my submissive.”

              “I really do,” Harry urged again and was met with Draco’s hushing index finger. He quieted down.

              Draco swept back Harry’s hair and leaned down for a kiss to his forehead just like the last time. Unlike then, though, Draco also kissed his nose and lips on the way down before rising and leaning in to whisper in his ear.

              “Goodnight, Harry, and only the sweetest of dreams.”

              “Goodnight, Draco,” Harry whispered in return. He was only a little frustrated that he needed to spend a night alone when he was always alone. Still, he didn’t dare question the method since Draco sounded like he was giving Harry a gift to be able to do this when he announced it over lunch.

              Packing had been quick with Harry taking only a few outfits, some snacks, his shoebox of memories, and his broom. Harry was in a way glad Amortentia could do one good thing for the world—force him to be reflective enough to remember he loved flying. The wards on the Manor were extended like a shield which left a hefty rectangle of space for Harry to practice being up on a broom again.

              Training. If Draco was going to train him, and oh how Harry hoped he did so roughly, then Harry was also going to train himself. Mind, body, and more on Harry needed at least a quarter of the discipline he’d given it when he thought the world was ending.

              Harry frowned to be having thoughts like that here, but he wasn’t foolish enough to the think these walls truly impenetrable to Harry’s insecurities. Still, Harry focused on the positives: very soft bed, close to Draco, and extremely clean and neat private bathroom. Soon infinite clean clothes would come, and possibly again the intimacy that Harry craved from Draco now. He wanted to kiss him again and again, but he was gone after the little ritual they’d developed.

              Draco closed the door almost all the way, leaving a crack. The magical nightlight on the dresser he’d purchased on a whim a few years ago would do Harry well if he wanted it, and Harry had been shown how to use it to project different shapes and colors.

              Harry set it to a low rainbow pulse, falling asleep with ease after watching the colors blend and move around the room.

              Most of the day awake was spent showing Harry how things worked from the kitchen to the tiny, pathetic garden outside. Oh, how Neville Longbottom would have wept to see these expensive plants all either overwatered or underwatered, whatever was making them wilt like that.

              Night snuck up on them, and after a shared dinner at the comically-large dining room table where they sat on opposite sides to be funny but wound up having to move for lack of hearing the other, bedtime was upon them once more.

              All properly tucked in for the second night in a row, it seemed like all that was left to do was sleep. Harry closed his eyes, his glasses resting on the nightstand next to his wand and his shoebox under his bed like it had been under his bed at the flat.

              Harry kept a shoebox of all the things he considered his most important items. Pictures of his parents, pictures of Remus and Sirius, a drawing from Teddy, a note from Fred, and at least a dozen other seemingly meaningless knickknacks. The invisibility cloak was in there, too, and Harry was planning on giving it to Teddy in a year when he went to Hogwarts for the first time. It wasn’t as if Harry needed it anymore. Adults didn’t have to do much sneaking around.

              Harry closed his eyes again because somehow they’d opened when he’d meant to keep them shut—a requisite of falling asleep, Potter, focus—he envisioned the shoebox sitting alone under the center of the bed he was in.

              He imagined it glowing faintly as well with the nightlight but this shoebox a warm red with flecks of orange like fire, warming him from the bottom-up. Light and heat pulsed from the box in larger, more intense waves as Harry sunk deeper, deeper still into the bed.

              When he next felt his eyes open he was annoyed—hadn’t he _just_ willed them shut again?—but it seemed some time had passed. Harry blinked, rubbing his eyes to reveal the room bathed in the light of late morning. Damn, maybe getting tucked in was the secret thing Harry had been missing all along. He would likely see a return of the nightmares and restlessness soon, but these past two nights had been bliss.

              Harry chuckled to himself remembering that place Draco had taken him, the weird dessert boutique Harry had been so concerned was actually a massive BDSM party. He probably still wasn’t even ready for those.

              He sat up, oddly rested and unsure what to do with all this spare energy. He stood, jumping on the balls of his feet a little. Hell, when was the last time he stretched? Harry raised his arms high to the sky, fingertips pushing as far up as they could, and then bent to stretch to his toes. His spine cracked the whole way back down, and it felt better than it probably should have.

              After some twists to even things out Harry made his way to the bathroom. Yesterday Draco had shown him all the different products in here and how he expected them to be used, practically leaving him with written—yes, written—instructions on the wall framed in glass.

              Harry wondered if this was another trick to life he’d been missing—lists. Draco sure liked to make them from the look he got at his desk back in Draco’s master bedroom. His workspace was probably like that too—Harry had a sudden and perverse interest in seeing Draco’s office at St. Mungo’s.

              He stepped into the shower and began the routine, exfoliating his whole body with a loofah paying special attention to the face. Then came soap all over, a toner he still didn’t understand the purpose of, a special shampoo and conditioner—two separate products instead of the all-on-one men’s stuff he’d been using at the flat that made Draco’s skin crawl from just looking at it.

              The routine was what his Daddy wanted him to do, so Harry stuck to it strictly. It certainly didn’t hurt that everything smelled incredible, and Draco had said he’d be brewing custom mulberry mixes of the same products for him.

              After all of that there was still more to do, but following along with the steps was oddly relaxing. Maybe it truly could become routine if he tried hard to keep with it. Stepping from the shower, he followed up all of that with a full-body moisturizer that smelled like vanilla, Draco’s favorite. There was a separate moisturizer for the face—‘of course’, Draco had said—so Harry did that too.

              When it was all done Harry toweled off feeling quite refreshed. When he opened the door to his room again he put on some of the clothes he’d brought—how offensive could Draco really find jeans and a t-shirt?

              Maybe if it was so atrocious Draco would have no choice but to strip Harry down. Now there was a thought.

              In the end Harry went with an inoffensive white shirt and started his way down the stairs. From what he was smelling—and mm, so savory—Draco was cooking breakfast for two again. Perking up, Harry rushed the rest of the way to the kitchen. “Draco?” he called out.

              “In here,” Draco responded from his place in front of the stove sizzling up bacon in pan and eggs in the other. Harry turned the corner to see him and felt his knees melt like they had when he’d been sucking him off. “Good morning,” Draco looked over his shoulder. “How do you like your eggs, Harry?”

              “Morning, and scrambled,” Harry answered eagerly, hopping up on a marble countertop next to the stove, feet bare and swinging. “Smells really good.”

              “How did you sleep?”

              “Like a rock,” Harry bragged.

              “That’s good to hear, and it looks like you followed my instructions well enough,” Draco nodded to Harry’s wet hair. He smelled downright intoxicating but Draco was trying to focus on not burning breakfast. “Excellent work.”

              Harry beamed. He was taking to direction well, and every bit of encouragement from Draco that came after just made him more convinced to keep doing so. If Draco thought he was changing his mind about him after another night of sobriety he had another thing coming. “Thanks.”

              When everything was done Draco transferred the scrambled eggs and bacon over to two plates, handing one to Harry. “Let’s eat here at the counter,” Draco decided, taking up a stool with an intricately-carved back and inviting Harry to sit on the one next to him.

              “And thank you for breakfast,” Harry nodded. He was getting three regular meals with Draco and his body was thanking him for it, too.

              “Of course, dear.” Draco gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze to test where he was on touch this morning and Harry eagerly leaned into it. Interesting. “Now, eat up. You have a long day of training ahead of you if you want it, remember?”

              “I want it,” Harry confirmed once again, tempted to throw some expletives in there next time if Draco didn’t believe him.

“We’ll break again for lunch and dinner, and after dinner we can relax. Or you can relax alone, if you like.” Independence was important after aftercare. Just because Draco wanted to be glued at the hip didn’t mean it was what Harry wanted or even the healthiest thing to do.

              Harry did want, however, to be at Draco’s side as often as possible health be damned. Thankfully it seemed being with Draco was only improving his health since that ‘house call’ yesterday. Harry had almost forgotten how good sex with other people that weren’t his right hand was.

              And how damn good fresh eggs and bacon were. The both of them were reaping the joys of Draco’s cooking skills.

              “Looking forward to it,” Harry said on the subject of training, sitting up straighter on his stool as he forked down the eggs and bacon. “If I’m good, may I sleep in your bed tonight?” Harry batted his eyelashes, laying it on pretty thick.

              At least Draco was amused by that. “If you’re good, yes. Daddy’s bed is always open to you now.” He patted Harry’s shoulder again and observed how he moved into it. “You don’t get touched enough,” Draco stated plainly.

              Harry blushed but couldn’t say he was wrong.

              “Worry not, love,” Draco assured him. “I’m going to change all of that.” He finished off his bacon and wiped his mouth with a monogrammed silk-blend napkin. “Are you okay with that? Me calling you ‘love’?”

              “Yeah, yes,” Harry nodded quickly. “S’just an expression. I like it. I like a lot of the names you give me, a far cry from our school days.”

              Draco had to laugh at that, recalling his ‘Potter Stinks’ badges. “Well, ‘Potter Smells Lovely Actually and It Confuses Me’ wasn’t as catchy. And especially now…” Draco leaned in to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. He took a deep inhale of the mixtures of scents he’d put together for him, and sighed happily.

              With a bit of shame Harry reflected on how he had better hygiene habits in school than now. No melancholy could last long, though, not when Draco’s handsome pointed chin was touching him and rewarding him for washing up like he’d asked. Draco breathed out against his neck and Harry shivered.

              “We really were fools for not doing this sooner, huh?” Harry remarked. They were completely compatible in terms of twisted minds and humor, kinks and twists, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that had something to do with the other. Having a rival was inherently homoerotic, but how had Harry never realized the extent until seeing Draco ten years later?

              Draco chuckled and pulled back Harry’s shirt collar to give the base of his neck a kiss. “Wouldn’t have worked then,” he murmured. “It works now.”

              “It does,” Harry agreed, moving his hand to Draco’s thigh. The urge to kiss him grew like vines in his chest all over his lungs and heart, squeezing them in urgency. Harry moved his head to the side to find Draco already leaning in, and the two connected their lips.

              The union of their lips was a union of hearts in truth with both too afraid to admit it. This was supposed to be transactional, wasn’t it? Harry had been gifted a muggle black card on his dresser in his room but he hadn’t touched it yet.

              At least Harry knew now for sure what a madman he was, and how he could learn to be a happier madman at Draco’s side. Being both miserable and crazy wouldn’t do—one had to go and the latter wasn’t changing.

              Harry failed, multiple times, from multiple proctors, a psychological evaluation for the Auror Academy that a man who called himself ‘Mad-Eye Moody’ had passed the first time around. Harry then moped about it for ten years, wallowing in his own uneventful pity party. Harry _then_ decided to be Draco Malfoy’s fucktoy for fun, and only then was he happy. Utter and complete madness.

              “Harry,” Draco whispered against his lips. “I want you to go up to my room and put on the clothing I’ve laid on the bed for you. I’ll come to you when I’m ready.”

              Was Draco going to make him wait even more? Harry hoped it wouldn’t be long.

              Draco got up and Harry did the same, eyes wide and looking at Draco for further instruction.

              “The hell did I just say?” Draco snarked and gave Harry’s arse a slap on his way out. “Up there. Now. I’ll come when I’m good and ready.”

              “Yes, I’ll be quick,” Harry replied, heading for the stairs. Maybe if he got dressed fast then Draco would come faster. It made sense in his head.

              It struck Harry as soon as he had his hand on the doorknob that he’d never been in Draco’s room alone. Draco had gotten to snooping immediately upon walking into his home, and the urge to do the same was tempting but felt forbidden.

              Harry closed the massive white double doors behind him and looked around. In daylight the room looked so peaceful, and even larger than Harry had remembered. A cauldron of incredibly high quality was now set on the desk, so Draco had been brewing something recently. Harry scanned for further clues into Draco’s life.

              What Harry found instead was what he was intended to wear neatly placed by the edge of the massive bed. His face went red just thinking about himself in this getup.

              Frilly lavender lace covered the front of a set of bra and panties with garters attached, and thigh-high sheer socks at the ends. Harry’s eyes went further down to the floor where there were—he gulped. A pair of shiny white pumps with crystal hearts on the tops of the toes sat on top of a note.

              Harry bent down to retrieve it.

              _H—_

_I know you’re nervous, so take a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth, like I’ve got my stethoscope on you, my hand on your heart. I want you to have fun, and be comfortable above all. You know the word to make it stop, and I will never fault you for using it. Now if you haven’t run for the hills, go get cute for me._

_—Daddy D_

              “Daddy D,” Harry read aloud in an exploratory whisper. It felt so freeing. Fuck what anyone else thought of this arrangement they’d stumbled into—this was right. There would be no running, for Harry was staying right here.

              His life was full of so much regret, so much shame and guilt compounded by how much he fretted about it. Harry thought maybe, just maybe, if he supplicated himself often enough at the marble altar of Draco Malfoy he might find some forgiveness, some Grace.

Harry grabbed the lingerie up in his fists and got to work ‘getting cute’.

              First all of his clothes had to come off, and they ended up in a folded pile on the nightstand this time since he wasn’t stripping in earnest. Draco’s mouth had felt so incredible yesterday that his cock twitched slightly at the memory alone.

              Next came the knickers, skimpy and lacy in a way that tickled Harry’s thighs as he pulled them on. His cock bulged out noticeably once fabric went over his hips but Harry liked how it looked, how he looked. He liked the garters even more, hooking them up and slipping on the socks with a big, dopey grin on his face.

              The bra was a bit of a puzzle to Harry having only ever unhooked Ginny’s once by accident through her shirt in an ill-fated snogging session. He held it up to the light and found the front, at least, slipping it on over his shoulders and fastening the clasp in back quite unevenly.

              The cups were small but snug enough to make Harry appreciate Draco taking his measurements. The padded fabric pushed his chest up a little, and Harry adjusted the straps to make sure they supported it.

              The last step felt the strangest to him. Clothes were just clothes, but shoes like that? Harry bit his lower lip as he stepped into them, hoping for the best.

              Much to his surprise the metaphorical glass slippers quite literally fit. They were uncomfortable to be up so high, but there was enough room for Harry’s toes and it was wide enough, too.

              Harry took a cautious first step and nearly rolled his ankle. These things were not for the faint of heart, apparently. He took another step, steadying himself this time and staying unbroken. He tried to walk in a line but it was really hard to go straight, and he was always bending slightly to balance himself out as if walking on stilts.

              Finally he waddled up to the bed and sat on the edge, giving his feet a rest for now. How long would it be until Draco arrived? Harry found himself playing with the end of the lacy ruffles of the panties after a little while, hands needing something to fidget with. At least he wasn’t pulling his hair.

              After what felt like an eternity there was a knock on the door.

              “Are you ready for me?” inquired Draco through doors peeked open.

              “Yes, Daddy,” Harry responded eagerly. He positioned himself a little more on his side, trying to show himself off in the beautiful clothes Draco had given him.

              Draco stepped into his room and found his wet dreams come alive in Harry Potter clad only in his custom lingerie, arse sticking out like he was trying to model for a camera. “Oh, yes, now that’s a pretty boy,” Draco marveled walking towards him. “Stand up.”

              “Yes, Daddy.” Harry stood with more confidence than he’d earned in this kind of shoe. “I… really like this.” This outfit, this room, this man…

              “Shoulders back,” Draco ordered, moving them for Harry. “Back straight, hips square.” Draco assessed him head-to-toe once more. “And chin up, love. You’ve got a lot to prove to me.”

              Harry swallowed thickly. He was ready, he swore it. Harry stuck his chin up and looked defiantly at Draco.

              “Now, you may be a submissive at heart, but you must be trained to become _my_ submissive. There are lessons you must learn. Today’s is in decorum—charm, and behavior. When you submit to me you are not permitted to slouch, Harry. You must hold yourself knowing Daddy’s looking at your body.”

              “Yes, I will,” Harry whispered, wobbling slightly in his pumps.

              “You _will_ speak when I ask you questions, and you will respect my authority above all. When I enter a room you will stand for me until I tell you to sit down— _if_ I do,” Draco went on. “When I make a request, you fulfill it. When I jump, you don’t ask me how high because you should know it’s as high as you can push yourself.”

              Draco cocked his head to the side, a sick grin creeping over his face. “Jump, Harry. Now.”

               Harry blinked. He hesitated, and was met with a swat to the hip for doing so. “Sorry, uh, okay,” Harry said and did his best to jump in place.

              “Again—I know you can go higher.”

              Harry jumped again, trying to straighten out his body as much as he could to elongate the length of it in these tall shoes.

              “Good enough for now, and at least I got to see your tits bounce. Now, walk in a straight line from one end of the room to the other, and don’t stop until I say.”

              “Yes, sir,” Harry said shakily. This was not going to be pretty.

              “Sir, I like that too. You better walk for me if I’m your superior.”

              He put one foot in front of the other as best he could, wobbling and nearly tripping as he turned around.

              “That won’t do,” Draco said with a tsk-tsk and wag of his finger before jumping into some good, old-fashioned degradation. “You’re a whore, you remember that, right? You put an ad for your body out in a public newspaper for the market to decide what to do with it. You need punishment so terribly you wrote a glorified want-ad. Sluts like you should at least know how to walk in heels if you like rubbing off to just thinking of wearing them so much. You’ve never actually worn them before now, I’m assuming?”

              “Yes, Daddy.” Harry looked down. ‘Draconian’ was sure right, and that snarl in Draco’s voice like he used to get in their childhood arguments was sounding hotter and hotter.

              “Chin up, eyes front,” Draco commanded.

              Harry’s emerald eye cast their spell upon Draco. He swallowed to gaze into them, and it wasn’t long before Draco was kissing him.  Harry melted under the affection because he wasn’t touched enough, he’d never been touched enough or kissed enough or hugged enough. Harry wanted it, he wanted it all from a man who he trusted, as Draco said in the bar.

              In complete trust Harry sighed into Draco’s lips, craving him anywhere he could have him.

              Draco pulled away and gave Harry’s cheek an affectionate scratch. “Here, I’ll show you.” Draco turned around to step out of his slippers and towards the closet. From there he produced two black heels of his own size. “Come on, over here,” Draco beckoned. He slipped his feet into the custom heels as a second skin. Draco was even taller like this, and twice as imposing.

              “You step with your toes first,” Draco went on, leg out. He demonstrated a casual walk across the room to Harry’s astonishment.

              “Where did you learn to do that?”

              “You’re on hallowed ground, pet. The master bedroom, right where this equivalent is now, used to be where I put on private shows of my mother’s fashions. Her heels were far too big, so I stuffed them with stockings.” Draco allowed a fond smile from a good part of his childhood. It was a private memory that he always thought his mother knew about but never mentioned. That was better than the alternative negative reaction, anyway.

              “But these,” Draco pointed out, unaware he was melting Harry’s heart, too. “Are custom-fit magical heels, and you’ll be walking in them.”

              “I can try it again,” Harry insisted. Draco waved his arm inviting him to.

              Harry didn’t want to quit this, to quit on himself. Everyone had to be bad at something before they mastered it, right? Well, Harry took to magic like a Giant Squid to water and in the process some other life skills has been left behind, especially ones outside of performing ‘male’, which he barely knew how to do either.

              Draco instructed him in his ways of walking in heels, showed him how to carry himself by touching him gently into the right posture and direction. Harry looked good enough to eat in that lingerie and it was hard to keep his hands off of him.

              “Watch this,” Draco said as if it were a challenge. Even though he was dressed like a free, fashionable man Harry couldn’t help but imagine him in his school uniform when he was little and showing off to his friends. Harry recalled that Draco was powerful too, and always second-best in scores to Hermione.

              Draco took a book off of his desk and placed it on top of his head. Harry’s jaw dropped slightly to see Draco take his first steps, and then on.

              Arms out, Draco walked perfectly still like he’d learned in charm school as a boy. When Draco finished his calm strut he removed the book from his head and offered it to Harry. “You have a lot to learn, Potter. Can you handle it?”

              Harry took the book without hesitation. “I can. Teach me more.”

*** *** ***

              Lunch was certainly appreciated after a workout like that. The book fell a lot, and that was just the beginning of the things he was meant to hold or do while walking in heels, sometimes blindfolded. The stumbling had exhausted him as it was intended to.

              Dinner was a relief when it came next, and Harry could hardly believe how good Draco’s cooking tasted. It made him want to try something, maybe the little things he’d have to make for the Dursleys like pancakes or even just popcorn or nachos. Something filling, to show Draco how he cared without having to say it.

              Harry had spent all day in the getup Draco had selected for him, the house the perfect temperature and Draco’s wandering eyes a constant excitement. Their desire was approaching a fever-pitch, interspersed by charm school lessons Draco passed down. Dining etiquette, proper posture practices, everything a man needed to blend in with high-class pureblood society. That was politeness to Draco Malfoy, after all. In that world and his mind titles and commands held power. Seeing Harry fucking Potter the most powerful wizard of their age learn this for the first time was always a little shocking to the system.

              “I had a feeling you went to charm school,” Harry said slyly on their way up the stairs together from practice on hardwood floor in the pantry, which was huge enough to walk into like a catwalk. Draco really did think of everything.

              “Yes, yes, because I’m so charming, I am often complimented on my sparkling personality,” Draco flippantly replied before smacking Harry’s ass, knocking him off-balance for a moment but ultimately catching himself on a stair. “Ha! Not bad for a day’s work.”

              Harry glared with no malice, suppressing a laugh. “Is it weird to say I have a newfound respect for women? I mean, I’ve always respected women, but this shit is hard. Drag queens, too. Basically anyone who works in heels,” Harry pondered aloud, getting to the second floor and moving up the next flight of stairs without stopping.

              Draco couldn’t help but smile at the earnest sentiment. “Yes, it’s an acquired skill. But today was not the last of your lessons or training, of course. I have another, more intimate session for you tonight if you wish to attend in my room.”

              They arrived at the third floor with silver eyes locked on green.

              “Yes, sir,” Harry replied lowly.

              “Then it’s decided.” Draco, arm still intertwined with Harry’s as they approached the double doors, used his free hand to wave his wand for the doors to open and shut behind them. “Tonight you will have a very simple task, Harry. Do not dare let yourself orgasm until I’ve given you explicit vocal permission.” Draco released Harry’s arm to grab his hips, fingers sprawled across the lavender fabric. “You have no idea how hard it is for me, teaching and not being able to touch you like I want lest you forget it all. But some lessons can be taught in the heat of passion, too.”

              Harry stepped closer to Draco to fill the gap between them. “Could you tell I was showing off?” Harry whispered in his ear. “All day, showing off to make you look,”

              “Wiggling those hips like that ought to be illegal, yes,” Draco confirmed with a joyous laugh as it had been his hope that he wasn’t misreading Harry’s movements that were clearly displaying more goods than others. Draco was always paying close attention to Harry’s body, his body language as well. “I could tell it fit. I could also tell you love wearing it.”

              “I do,” Harry whimpered close to a moan, leaning further into Draco. Their different colognes had been mingling all day and Harry loved the smell. “I’m not,” he clarified softly. “A Drag Queen. I’m a man and I just... like this.”

              “I’m glad, you look damn good,” Draco responded seriously. “There is nothing wrong with that answer.”

              “Was there a wrong answer?”

              “A dishonest one,” Draco replied sagely. “Now, you may take off the shoes. I know your feet must be killing you by now.”

              “Oh,” Harry sighed. “Thank you, Daddy.” Harry stepped out of them and wiggled his toes on the carpet. It felt good to be free.

              “And please, if you would, get on the bed on all-fours.”

              Harry gulped. After a moment he stepped to it, crawling onto Draco’s massive bed with his arse in the air, placing his glasses to the side. “Like this?” Harry asked.

              “Perfect.” Draco grabbed Harry’s arse and he inhaled sharply, not having heard his approach as Draco had stepped out of his shoes as well. “How long has it been, Harry Potter?” Draco questioned tauntingly, hands moving inward, spreading his cheeks to view his arsehole through the lace.

              “Too long,” was Harry’s first automatic response. “Three years, sir.”

              “Then it looks like I’ll be putting some work in to open you up tonight,” Draco murmured and moved Harry’s glasses to the nightstand.

              “It’s been too long, and I want you,,” Harry replied, moving his hips in a circle.

              Draco easily spanked the moving target. “I can hardly resist—oh, tomorrow we’ll test you in pain. Tonight I want to deflower you again, spread you until you can take my cock. That sound serviceable?”

              “Yes, Daddy,” Harry practically begged, sticking his arse out for more. What was a pain test? Harry very much wanted to know.

              Draco let out a hiss of air, undoing his top shirt buttons and stretching his neck for a beat. “Hey now, pain is for tomorrow. Tonight I need to open you up again carefully, painslut. Moan about it all you like, but we’ll get to punishments for your impudence soon enough. Today you were good in heels—as graceful as you could be. Tonight you get rewarded with one eventual orgasm after I’ve mounted you to my heart’s content.”

              With the shedding of Draco’s shirt Harry couldn’t help but look over his shoulder at the man standing behind him still blushing from how appealing it sounded to be ‘mounted’. Eyes wide and trusting beheld a thin but sculpted chest and stomach. Harry licked his lips. He tried to see himself through Draco’s eyes too, a man spread and having assumed the position he was ordered to. “Yes, Daddy.”

              “Your arse is a treasure but I would be remiss,” Draco emphasized, empowered by Harry’s repetition of the phrase that was music to his ears. “To ignore that lovely chest of yours.” Draco reached his arms around Harry’s sides and grasped the cups of his bra and all that was within them, groping under for direct access to Harry’s nipples.

              “Oh!” Harry gasped, arms shaking. Draco tweaked Harry’s nipples quite mercilessly, sending jolts straight down to his cock. “Yes, yes Daddy,” Harry repeated in a low, breathy tone to feel Draco’s nail gently run down the sensitive skin.

              “What a good boy, can’t stop calling out for his Daddy,” Draco cooed, squeezing the tips of Harry’s nipples and dragging them as little of the space as he could far out from his chest and released with a scratch of his nails.

              “Ah, ah, ohh, that was, that was nice,” Harry breathed. The bra felt even tighter with his nipples throbbing from the overstimulation.

              “And there’s more where that came from.” Draco hooked his fingers into Harry’s panties and pulled down, exposing him. Harry wriggled self-consciously as Draco removed the panties from the garters so Harry would have the socks on still when he was fucking him.

              Freeing Harry’s cock had set loose the hard length that Draco had been expecting. “Daddy…” Harry whispered. “Look how hard I am for you.” The master of his orgasms loomed behind him and he was always going to have to earn one.

              “Yes, pet, you like to have Daddy watching, don’t you? I see, darling, I see that pretty cock hard for me.” Draco undid his trousers and slipped them off as one with his underwear, no more time to waste on his own pleasure. Draco too was hard as a rock and not afraid to show it off. “I see that hole of yours, too, so sweet and little, but don’t worry, I know how to open you up slowly. Trust me—I’m a Healer.”

              Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “And how long have you been waiting to use that one?”

              When Draco next spoke his breath puffed between Harry’s arsecheeks. “As long as I’ve been waiting to do this.” A wet, hot tongue swiped over Harry’s hole and his toes curled under. Draco licked again and Harry gripped the sheets for dear life. Of all the times Harry had said for Draco to kiss his arse… Prophetic.

              “ _Da--ddy_ ,” Harry choked out, shocked by the sensitivity and Draco’s boldness. No man had ever licked him there and especially not like that, and Draco’s mouth just kept coming back for more.

              Harry was clean but still self-conscious of how he might taste but it seemed Draco wasn’t giving a thought in the world to that, licking over the puckered skin like he was made of something delicious. The little swirls Draco gave of his tongue around the outside of his hole made Harry twitch.

              “You taste divine,” Draco murmured, lips on Harry’s arsecheeks, as if he’d heard Harry’s thoughts. “Relax for me, sweetling. Take a deep breath in, just like that, and let it all out.”

              With his breath out Harry let forth a tiny moan, his hole coated in Draco’s saliva and fluttering expectantly against each stripe he licked up across him. “Feels good, sir…” Harry murmured, trying to relax under the touches as he’d been instructed to.

              “Yeah?” Draco asked breathily, pausing to lick the underside of Harry’s balls. “I make you feel good, love?” He dragged his tongue back up to lap openly at Harry.

              “Yes Daddy,” Harry responded as fast as he could get the reassurance out. His thighs were trembling under the machinations of Draco’s tongue pressed flat up his taint to his needy, long-neglected hole. Harry had almost forgotten how incredible this felt, having a man open him up, and never before had that man been Draco Malfoy so this instance was even hotter.

              “Good. You do quite the same to me—how you tempt me bent over and whimpering,” Draco said and purposefully brushed his erection against Harry’s thigh. Harry shivered in a way that made Draco feel powerful, and dangerous. “We’re going to make me fit in that little hole of yours.” Draco prodded experimentally at it with his finger.

              Harry groaned, arching his back so his arse stuck up further in the air.

              “Already so slutty for it. You’re quickly excited,” Draco observed, quite pleased with the fact that he was the one to cause this wanton behavior in the savior of the wizarding world. “Are you easy, Harry? I want to hear you say it.”

              His cheeks went scarlet red. “I’m,” Harry started. “I’m easy.”

              Draco dragged his finger around to circle Harry’s entrance. “Yes, I thought as much. You’re an ickle pretty whore, especially with how you’re pulsing right now.” Draco pressed his finger harder. “Like your body’s begging for cock. How badly do you want it?”

              “Bad,” Harry replied, casting a glance over his shoulder at Draco to see how his finger was teasing his entrance. “I want it really bad.”

              “Because?”

              “Because I’m a whore, Daddy.” Now Harry’s blush was so intense it was climbing down his neck.

              “Yes,” Draco said with a wicked grin. “Yes, you are.”

              He reached for the bedside table next to open a drawer and produce a vial of oil. “I brew this myself,” Draco went on. “Tastes like cherry.” It was even brewed to keep warm. He spread some onto his index finger and pressed it back against Harry’s hole, pleased to hear a little peep of excitement from him when his touch returned to him slick and warm with lubricant. “Harry?” Draco paused.

              “Draco,” Harry whispered in response, realizing he hadn’t said it in a while. This caring, sexually-charged man was the same boy that had made fun of him in school. Daddy D, Daddy Draco, that was who he was with, and every word Draco spoke aloud reminded Harry of it, filling him up with his voice.

              “Do you want to be on your back or on your stomach? I think you’ve been good enough to decide.”

              Harry’s arms were beginning to tremble holding himself up on all fours like this, and when Draco spoke his offer they nearly collapsed. “Facing you,” Harry answered almost desperately. “I want to see you.”

              Draco’s heart raced. Why had Harry said it like that? The heat in his voice, the intimacy of his suggestion made his Dominant blush.

              Draco helped Harry onto his back.

              “Spread your legs,” Draco commanded, trying to regain control of himself and Harry at once. The other man’s hard-on was now flush against his stomach looking positively swollen. “If you want to look then you better not take your eyes off of me.”

              “I won’t,” Harry swore and pushed his legs as wide apart as they could go. The slight constraint on his chest from the fabric of his bra was a constant reminder that he’d been the one to bring up being fucked in lingerie as a secret wish.

              It seemed dreams did come true when Draco Malfoy was involved.

              “Now,” Draco said, nudging his lubricated digit against Harry’s hole again. “Lay back, breathe deep, and relax for me.” Draco swirled his finger around a few more times for good measure before sticking it in his mouth and licking it clean. “Mmm. Fruity like you are.”

              Harry let out a laugh at the absurdity, the joy of hearing Draco’s bizarre off-the-wall comments that never ceased even in bed, it seemed. “Daddy,” Harry said, covering his eyes with the back of his forearm for a moment in embarrassment as he laughed and laughed.

              “What, am I wrong?” Draco laughed with him, delivering a harsh pinch to both arsecheeks that turned Harry’s laughs to whines. He used his hands to spread Harry’s legs open wider. “And remember, my tart, don’t you dare spill your stuffing until Daddy’s done with you,” he teased. Draco licked the cherry lubricant hungrily, this time not withdrawing his tongue to repeat the action but going deeper.

              “Ah,” Harry gasped, feeling Draco’s nose brush against his taint as he went so deep with his tongue’s strokes.

              All Harry could do was gasp and moan when Draco pressed harder, harder with his unrelenting mouth. With the taste of cherry and Harry on Draco’s tongue he couldn’t get enough. He snogged Harry’s arsehole and felt it blossom around his hot tongue.

              “That’s—oh, so good!” Harry cried out.

              He sounded surprised and it dawned on Draco that while he wouldn’t be the first man to fuck Harry Potter he was the first man to rim him, to lick him open like he deserved. Just when Draco thought this couldn’t get any hotter.

              Draco’s tongue teased the inside of Harry Potter as no one had ever done before. He breathed in through his nose, mouth latched to Harry’s hole and sucking around him while his own cock throbbed almost painfully. It seemed this would be a test of his stamina, as well.

              Draco pulled off of Harry with a loud smack of his lips, picking the vial up again and spreading the thick liquid within all over his fingers. “If only the world knew,” Draco breathed, speaking as his index finger lowered back down, pressing to the split of Harry’s spread legs. “What a simpering thing you turn into when your Daddy kisses your hole. The Great Harry Potter, open wide enough for what’s next…”

              At a careful pace Draco sank his finger in past the first ring of muscle and deeper in, always deeper until Harry had taken him to the hilt of his finger. “Daddy,” Harry whined, the finger almost too much while almost too little. It burned like Harry knew it would from past experience, but it made Harry immediately want more, want to go wider and deeper with the stretch.

              “How’s that, love?” Draco checked in, free hand still pressed to Harry’s thigh to keep him down.

              “S’good,” Harry breathed. He was keeping his promise to keep his eyes on Draco even when they wanted to roll back into his head or flutter shut.

              “And how’s this?” Draco asked with a grin, curling his finger inside of Harry again and again, making a come-hither motion as he explored inside of Harry’s walls.

              Harry’s mouth opened but no noise came out at first. “ _Oh_.”

              Draco pressed his fingertip to the spot that made Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “Sensitive here, are we?” Draco mercilessly rubbed up against his prostate.

              “Drac _o_!”

              “Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear that,” Draco lied, working his finger in and out so he could always end up against that same bundle of nerves. “You’ll have to speak up, dearie. Daddy wants to know every thought in that pretty head of yours.”

              “Daddy,” Harry tried, louder now than he intended to be, but who was around to hear them?

              “Yes, sweetie, Daddy’s here with what you need.” Draco’s index finger moved easily inside of him now, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his middle finger in with it.

              Harry’s eyes went wide, and no longer holding back on the volume of sounds that left him let quite the groan out to bounce on the walls.

              “Yes, yes, be as loud as you like,” Draco encouraged and twisted the fingers inside of him. “Scream for all I care, because nobody merciful can hear you.”

              “Fuck,” Harry rasped. “Fuck, fuck…”

              “Yes, I’ll be doing that soon. Such an impatient whore.” Draco pinched Harry’s thigh and smiled fondly at how red the mark turned. While his two fingers worked Harry’s walls open Draco was imagining what it would be like for his cock to be hugged by such wet heat. “You’ll get my come soon enough like this.”

              “ _Yes_ ,” Harry gasped, voice thin and urgent. He had to take a deep breath before he continued, Draco’s fingers already drawing little groans from the corners of his mouth with each movement. “I want you to, whenever you can, I want you to—to come inside of me.”

              Draco’s silver eyes went wide and then narrowed like a predator’s sighting prey. “Yes, I should have suspected you were a comeslut, too,” Draco breathed, so high on Harry’s words his dick jumped. “You like being filled, sweetheart? Don’t you worry; Daddy will fill you right up.”

              Tears gathered at the corners of Harry’s eyes not out of melancholy but sheer embarrassment. Draco, unjudging, was giving him everything he had ever wanted. “Thank you, Daddy,” Harry said, blinking back the wetness.

              “You are _so_ welcome.” Draco pushed in his third finger, stretching Harry as wide as he’d been in years.

              The bite of pain sent a shockwave up Harry’s spine. He knew Draco was even bigger than this, but also that Draco would give him enough time to adjust to this before moving up to that. He just had to relax.

              “That’s it, breathe deep,” Draco murmured. “Breathe in deep, and out, and relax for Daddy.”

              Harry moaned as Draco’s fingers curled inside of him, disappearing into him to rock his hips gently back into the bed.

              “There you are, that’s it… You’re almost ready for me.”

              Harry’s heart seized in his chest at the thought. Of course he knew that was where this was going but having that big, gorgeous cock of Draco’s inside of him? Harry would need to see it to believe it, many times for extended proof, of course.

              The three digits thrust in and eased out again and again. Draco could hardly believe his own eyes, could hardly believe how tight Harry had started and how wide he was now and how tight he would be again around his length—it was almost unreal.

              But this was no dirty dream, this was the real deal. “Harry,” Draco said, leaning forward so their faces were inches away. “Are you ready for me?”  

              Harry, glasses askew and fogged from the intensity of his blush, nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”

              Draco removed his fingers leaving Harry empty and disoriented, seeing spots of color in front of his eyes. While he moaned and his head swam Draco’s was entirely focused on lining up their hips. He spread the oil in the magically-endless vial over his prick from base to tip, nudging the tip at Harry’s hole that was seeking something to clamp onto with the removal of his fingers.

              Grunting to push past the first ring of muscles Draco found it so tired and stretched he was able slide in easily. The deeper rings took more dedicated force until Harry’s walls relented for a moment allowing Draco to push through. “Fuck,” Draco shuddered. “You’re so tight.” He had to steady himself to keep from finishing right when the most fun part started.

              With a breathy moan Harry couldn’t help but voice his agreement. The intrusion of Draco’s cock was searing for a long moment, a kind of pain that Harry had missed terribly from his inactivity. “So big,” was Harry’s response, hips shifting slightly while impaled upon Draco.

              Harry’s movements sent shockwaves through Draco’s nervous system, body lighting up with sensation in parts that weren’t even touching Harry. They were connected now, Draco buried deep within him and unmoving at first to allow Harry to adjust.

              “This is what you wanted, remember?” Draco taunted, starting a slight roll of his hips. “This is what you dreamed about.”

              The red tone Harry’s darker skin had taken on only deepened as Draco spoke. “Yes, Daddy,” Harry admitted, sparks of sensation climbing up his body with how Draco was starting to move. “Even before I knew what this was, when we were just kids I—I wanted you so badly. I never thought I could actually have you. You’re too,” Harry searched for the word, a harder task than he’d thought it would be with dick in his arse. “You’re just too special for me.”

              Draco’s heart softened while his cock only got harder to hear this. “Harry,” he breathed, drawing back his hips and sinking them in again, a first experimental thrust that had the both of them reeling and panting. “You have no idea how special you are. Daddy’s special boy—come here, come here.”

              Draco leaned forward and scooped Harry up in his arms, guiding his legs with his hand so they could wrap around his waist. Beneath him Harry trembled, too afraid to speak lest Draco take it back. Could he really be that to Draco?”

              “Daddy’s special boy,” Draco repeated, voice darker to ease out and slam right back into him with force this time.

              Harry called out with a pitched yell, his arms flying to wrap around Draco’s neck. “Daddy…”

              “That’s right, Daddy’s here…” Draco snapped his hips back again, and again, establishing a brutal pace right out of the gate. To feel Harry squirm beneath him, to feel his walls clench and tighten around each thrust, was more special than Draco and his aristocratic vocabulary knew how to articulate.

              Holding back nothing now Draco worked his hips forward, grinding the tip deep inside of Harry before pulling back for the next thrust until he established a punishing rhythm on Harry’s neglected hole. He was going to feel him for days after at this rate. “Don’t stop,” Harry urged him on, nails digging into Draco’s back. “Don’t you dare stop.”

              “Don’t you dare come,” Draco countered seeing how into the rocking motions Harry had gotten, but still he did not stop. “You are a tight little cocksleeve, and I want to play with you more before you’re spent.”

              Draco thrust into him and Harry saw stars. A cocksleeve, yes, just a toy for Draco to use—the word alone had made Harry’s dick begin to weep between them. “I won’t come,” Harry told him, words punctuated by the slap of their skin. “Not until Daddy says, I promise.”

              “Aw, he promises,” Draco observed with a wheezy laugh. “You do try your best to be a good boy, don’t you?” His back muscles were tense, sweat dripping between his shoulderblades to keep up the repetitive motion of fucking himself into Harry.

              “I do,” Harry answered almost petulantly, now purposefully clenching around Draco to hear him groan about it. “I want to be your good boy.” And with his legs hooked around Draco and Draco easing inside of him Harry thought he was getting damn well close to it at least.

              What Draco did next was unexpected. He reached between their legs and wrapped his hand tight around Harry’s length to draw a surprised yelp from him.

              “Daddy,” Harry called out as his hand began to move up and down in slow, purposeful strokes. His eyes rolled back at how delicious the overstimulation was.

              “Feeling close, are we, Harry? That’s too bad.” Draco withdrew his hand.

              “Daddy!”

              Draco chuckled, speeding up his pace so that the slapping noises were erratic now. “You don’t have permission yet, sweetling.” He broke to drag in a ragged breath. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough I’ll give it to you.”

              “Please,” Harry started begging immediately, finding it hard to have his usual cloak of shame over him when thrown on his back in a bra and socks taking cock like he was born to. “Please, Daddy, I want to come.”

              Draco grinned, saying nothing as he mercilessly ground his hips in deep save the sounds of his groans.

              “Please, please can I come?”

              Draco reached down and played with Harry’s cockhead. “No, not yet, pet.”

              The overstimulation was enough to drive a man mad. “ _Please_!” Harry called out, now having to consciously hold back the buildup of heat within him threatening to burst. “Please, Daddy, if you let me come I’ll do anything for you!”

              “Anything?” Draco removed his hand. “Now that’s interesting.”

              “Anything,” Harry repeated desperately, whining at the absence of sensation. It was like every time he was getting close enough Draco was pulling away, all while pounding his hole with reckless abandon. “Daddy please, please, I’m your comeslut, remember? You can do whatever you want in me.”

              Draco smirked savagely above him, looking down on Harry as his merciless master. “And I intend to, dearie,” Draco confirmed with a slap to Harry’s arse as he fucked him.

              “Ah!” Harry’s nails dug deeper, silent pleas for relief as even his toes curled under.

              “Hmmm,” Draco hummed and had it turn to a moan with how tight Harry still was after all of this work to open him. Draco was closing in on his orgasm though he wished he wasn’t—he wanted this moment to last forever, to always be the one fucking Harry Potter so hard he offered _anything_ in exchange for sweet release. “Maybe you’ve been good enough.”

              “Oh, please, please Daddy, please I’ll be so good now and always, I’ll be your good boy and you can fuck me however you like just—just _please_ let me come!” Harry’s weeping cock was now generously oozing precome, the movement of their fucking forcing the beads to trickle down his length.

              Draco reached down for a last time, clamping hard around Harry’s cock and tugging. “Who’s your Daddy?” Draco demanded. This couldn’t last forever but he’d make a hell of a memory of it.

              “You are! You’re my Daddy, Draco, fuck…”

              “Who’s your Daddy?”

              “You’re my Daddy!”

              “That’s right,” Draco growled. His hips had sped up, losing all sense of rhythm to blindly push forward into the lubricated heat around him. He knew he was leaking inside of Harry and didn’t have much time left himself. “Come on, one more time: Who’s your Daddy?”

              “You are!” Harry practically screamed, body convulsing to hold back his orgasm.

              “Then come for Daddy,” Draco hissed. “Do it now.”

              Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He let out a strangled moan that was almost Draco’s name, shooting his load between them in thick white ropes as Draco continued to fuck him.

              A few thrusts later and Draco was done in as well, filling the cavern with his seed as he’d promised he would. He rode out the sensation until he couldn’t anymore, release bringing a prick of tears to the corners of his eyes. Sensation still swept all over his body, aftershocks riding the last of his pleasure and sapping him of all the energy he’d used at once.

              “Nghrk,” said Draco, lowering himself gently so as not to crush Harry beneath his weight.

              “Stay,” Harry demanded, keeping his arms locked tight before he realized he wasn’t in any position to be giving commands. “Please?”

              Draco laughed breathlessly. He slid out of Harry but otherwise stopped trying to move, cradling him in his arms. “Is this good? Not too heavy?”

              “Just right,” Harry responded, hugging tighter the weighted blanket that was Draco Malfoy on top of him.

              Draco settled in some more, resting his head in the crook of Harry’s neck. “Good, good…” Draco let his eyes close for a moment, exhaustion washing over him. He couldn’t rest long, though, not when Harry needed his immediate attention. “Such a good boy,” he murmured, moving up to pepper his cheeks with kisses using his nose as a bridge between them.

              “I am?” Harry asked, voice hopeful.

              “Yes, of course. Did you not hear me? You’re Daddy’s special, special good boy.” Draco kissed his chin. “You did so well, took everything I gave you and ran with it. You’re an excellent playmate, Harry, quite imaginative. When you promised me ‘anything’ I had to keep from coming right then and there.”

              “The promise stands,” Harry said with a little laugh, he too moving to get more comfortable in Draco’s arms. He rested his forehead against Draco’s. “That… That was incredible. Anything else you have in mind, well, let’s just say you’ve got my vote of confidence.”

              Then it was Draco’s turn to laugh. He kissed Harry’s temples before moving back to relaxing their foreheads together. Harry seemed to like this, this meeting of the minds, and Draco was quite interested in learning about what exactly Harry liked to better ‘torture’ him with. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. You needed that. Hell, I needed that.”

              “So, I can stay in your bed tonight?” Harry asked to reconfirm because there was no way in hell he was going back to that guest room if he had any say in it.

              “Of course.”

              “Good.” Harry reached behind himself and unclasped the bra with some effort. Once Draco caught on to what he was doing he helped Harry take the socks off, too, tossing them to the side where his panties had been discarded. “Thank you,” Harry said, for the help and for getting him these clothes in the first place. “I did need that.”

              “And there’s more where that came from, I assure you,” Draco promised. “Now, let’s get you something to drink and a snack before—“

              “Stay, Daddy,” Harry begged, arms clamping around Draco. “All I need is water; you can conjure it.”

              “Quite averse to me leaving this bed, are you?”

              “Yes,” Harry admitted with some shame and some pride at once. The two were getting harder to tell the difference between in this Manor.

              “Alright then. Let me up a little; I won’t leave.”

              Draco got up slightly, grabbing a glass on the bedside table along with his wand, and after murmuring a spell water came out of the tip to fill the glass perfectly. “Here, drink up.” Harry did, and passed the water back to Draco indicating for him to do the same, so he did too.

              Harry hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he’d been offered the drink. Snuggling him like this, making sure he was fed and watered not unlike a beloved houseplant—was this the mythical aftercare he’d read about? His head was still swimming, and he could only think of Draco as ‘Daddy’ now as if he’d forgotten the name of his old school rival.

              “How are you feeling?” Draco asked, pressing a hand to Harry’s forehead for his temperature—it was normal.

              “Good, Daddy,” Harry murmured, the word so delicious in his mouth now that he wanted to add it to every sentence he spoke. “Just stay here with me, that’s all I need.”

              “Then you shall have it, little love.” Draco settled back down beside him and indicated for Harry to turn around. “Be my little spoon?”

              “Yes, Daddy,” Harry responded quickly, nothing sounding better. He got on his side and felt Draco’s flat chest press against his back, their legs tangling together atop the sheets with both still too warm from sex to consider going underneath them yet.

              Draco took in a deep, long breath and Harry instinctively repeated the action. Draco smiled, hand coming up to smooth back Harry’s damp hair in slow, repetitive motions. “You were excellent. Truly,” Draco reminded him.

              Harry smiled, wriggling back up against Draco. “You, too. Now this is a tucking in.”

              Draco laughed. “Yes, well. I can still sing songs and tell you stories and bring the covers up when you want,” he half-joked about all of those things.

              “…You sing?” Harry asked curiously.

              “Uh,” Draco stammered. “Well, yes, I can sing. Most people can, it’s just the quality of tone that’s the issue…”

              “Can I hear it?” Harry’s voice was so small. “Please, Daddy?”

              Oh, how could Draco ever resist a request like that? Harry was wicked, truly, as Draco learned his body so did Harry in return and he knew Draco couldn’t resist begging attached to his title.

              Draco sighed. It was a good thing they weren’t looking each other in the eye because his face was getting awfully red. Using his singing voice—he wasn’t sure if anyone had heard him sing in years. “Okay. One song.”

              Harry wriggled with delight.

              Draco cleared his throat. If this was what his good boy wanted at bedtime then he’d get it. He started at first just by humming an old, familiar tune. Harry could feel the vibrations of his throat behind him.

              It was a song that Narcissa had sung to Draco when he was a boy, a slow, lilting tune: Brahms’ Lullaby.

              “Lullaby, and goodnight, in the skies stars are bright,” Draco sang, voice low and private for only Harry to hear. “May the moon’s silvery beams, bring you sweet dreams…”

              Harry’s eyes burned something fierce to hear the opening words. Draco Malfoy was singing him a lullaby, and his voice was like an angel’s. Nobody had ever tucked Harry in, nobody had sang to him, kissed him, hugged him for so long he was starving, ravenous to any scrap of affection thrown his way. Being showered in it like this was almost overwhelming.

              “Close your eyes now and rest, may these hours be blessed, ‘til the sky’s bright with dawn, when you wake with a yawn,” Draco went on, his own eyes closing to prevent from looking too misty should Harry look back at him. “Lullaby, and goodnight, my greatest delight, I’ll protect you from harm, and you’ll wake in my arms.”

              Draco went on singing, soft and low, and did so until he ran out of verses in his memory. Narcissa had done a better job than he with the words and it still seemed like he had a long way to go, but apparently Harry didn’t mind. He’d gone very still to listen, and… what was that?

              Draco leaned forward thinking Harry was saying something to hear a stifled little snore. He laughed—had Harry seriously fallen asleep so fast? Wasn’t he always saying it was hard for him to do that?

              It made Draco all the more proud. He smiled, stopping the song and gently curling closer so as not to wake him with the embrace. He’d just sung Harry Potter to sleep, and Draco was starting to feel the tug of rest on his eyelids as well.

              With one last glance at his good boy Draco closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift further and further off still, the words of the song playing in his head until he, too, was drawn into a deep, restful sleep.


	8. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for misty-girl on tumblr who is podficcing this! Her voice is so relaxing and wonderful—I’m seriously flattered and will update y’all on when it’s ready!

**Chapter 8: Gone**

              Day six of training had barely begun and this was shaping up to be Harry’s favorite day yet.

              It was their first time out together since their meeting and the dessert shop, and it was somewhere there was no chance of being recognized—a small muggle gathering.

              The Farmer’s Market closest to Malfoy Manor was a tiny little spit along the side of the road but a thirty minute walk away. A gathering of tents, canopies and stands that were much more than their rickety craftsmanship would imply. The fruits and vegetables in the baskets being sold were as fresh as they came, and Draco often shopped there so he knew at least everyone’s last name.

              “And they know I’m gay,” Draco went on explaining. The Farmer’s Market was visible in the distance now, just over a hill. “I mean, they have to. Look at me—I’m doing this on purpose.” Draco motioned to his outfit, crisp white slacks and a smart green sweater vest over a pinstripe green-and-white shirt.

              “Right, and you’re doing this to me on purpose,” Harry joked back about his own outfit. Jeans were out, forever apparently in Draco’s eyes, and Harry was wearing a pair of green trousers that were wide at the ankles, almost like women’s bellbottoms. The belt was but a soft strip of the same olive green fabric tied into a bow around his waist. His shirt was a plain white button-up like he’d worn in school though, so he wasn’t quite as loud as the man he was walking hand-in-hand with. “I’m kidding, you know. I like this.” It made him feel handsome and Merlin help him—pretty.

              “You had better be kidding,” Draco snarked right back. “Because I was thinking of going easy on you for your lesson today for yesterday’s exemplary performance, but now that’s all out the window.”

              “Oh, like you were ever going to go easy on me,” Harry challenged. He had marks all over his neck and chest that proved otherwise. Draco even had him dragging the rolling caddy for the bags.

              Draco laughed at that but still held up a finger. “You’re talking yourself into a hole,” he reminded Harry.

              “I wonder if I can talk myself into yours,” Harry pondered, seeking what he knew was coming next.

              Draco released his hand so he could give him a firm spank on the arse. “So cheeky today, you really will be in for it later. My mind’s made up.” And still Draco took Harry’s hand in his again and they walked as one together.

              “Good,” Harry said, chin held high just like Draco had shown him. Being good was fun, but being bad could be just as entertaining with Draco, albeit usually leaving a handprint below his waist.

              Draco and Harry exchanged a private look, a warm smile.

              “Right, so, I think they know conceptually that I’m a big poof,” Draco went on as if he’d never been interrupted. “But not in practice. It’s the practice that usually weirds these country-types out. They look at us clothed and holding hands and all they see is us naked together—and suddenly we’re the dirty ones.”

              The subject matter of his words were serious but Harry couldn’t help but smile whenever Draco complained about straight people. It was so funny, that disgusted curl of his lip up when he talked about hexing homophobes or exacting bizarre revenges on the Dursleys.

              Harry knew that Ginny was bisexual and Charlie was gay-ace but other than that he didn’t really have many other queer friends. It seemed that all of Draco’s friends were, though, and that they often held lively drunken dish-sessions on the heterosexual nonsense they saw go on around them from their parents’ marriages to arguments they heard couples on the street having.

              That kind of camaraderie sounded nice, even if a bit mean.

              “Anyway, if they say anything sideways I’ll—I’ll—“ Draco couldn’t say he’d hex these muggles because that was unusually cruel and a violation of the Statute of Secrecy. So what could he do? The only punch he’d ever thrown in his life was getting one in on a paralyzed Harry who couldn’t even fight back.

              “You’ll verbally eviscerate them,” Harry finished for him. “You’re pretty damn good at that—I would know.”

              “Thank you,” Draco replied, genuinely flattered that Harry thought that and ignoring the harsher implications of how Harry would indeed know.

              Harry squeezed Draco’s hand to remind Draco it was all more than forgiven. “Mmm, I can smell something cooking,” Harry’s nose perked up. “Something oily.” It was getting to be around lunchtime and the stew they were collecting ingredients for was for dinnertime, so maybe they could grab something here? Just as Harry looked over to ask about it he saw a knowing smile on Draco’s face.

              “Fried potato spirals, and yes, we’re eating them,” Draco confirmed. “They’re in season right now, and Ms. Lethenbacker brings out her deep-fryer to her stand. We’ll be getting potatoes from her and her alone—the quality is unbeatable for no magic additives to her soil. It’s either cheating or child labor with all kids that are with her all the time. She’s very pointed that they’re not _her_ kids though, they’re her sister’s. She’s… a bit into me no matter how many hints I drop.”

              “Oh? Well I think you’re dropping a big one with this,” Harry said and held up their hands, fingers intertwined perfectly. “Is that why you brought me here?”

              “A simple convenient coincidence,” Draco dismissed. “I happened to want to cook stew today.”

              Harry could make out the shapes of figures now, some trucks pulled up with their hatchbacks open and overflowing with bushels of produce. The deep-fryer in question was a big, bubbling vat behind one of the trucks that looked wildly unsafe but probably tasted all the better for it. Rustic authenticity was hardly a motif in the Manor so the change of pace was appreciated.

              Hand-in-hand they approached the tiny market. Draco caught the eye of one elderly man in a straw hat and he signaled a wave to him.

              “Mr. Malfoy, right on time,” came the elderly man’s warble, voice shaky with age. “My onions are waiting for you to give them a good home. That fancy house on the hill have room for some onions?”

              “Yes, I think it might,” Draco chuckled. “Hello, Mr. Georges. This is Harry Potter, and we’re going to make stew together.”

              The way Draco said that so matter-of-factly made Harry’s stomach tingle. “Hullo, lad. Good to meet you,” Harry said and stuck out his hand to shake. The old man’s grip was strong for his age and made sense with his profession, tilling and working the earth.

              “Oho, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Georges observed with a merry little chuckle and for a moment Harry was scared that he’d been given away. Was this man a wizard? Did he _know_? “Pleasure’s all mine, for here I thought Mr. Malfoy was all alone in that big house.”

              So it wasn’t about his identity as savior? Was it—was this man, a random stranger, happy for them? Neither Draco nor Harry knew quite how to react to that. Draco had been expecting the cold shoulder or at the very least a Good Ole’ Brit ‘tsk, tsk’.

              “Not so alone anymore,” Harry confirmed, looking to Draco with pride in his heart. “But please, tell me about your onions. We’re looking for some for a stew.”

              “Oh, now my onions are the finest around, just take a look at these beauties, these right here,” the man indicated. “Won’t find a fatter onion this side of the Prime Meridian than mine.”

              Harry wasn’t going to challenge him there, taking the few he was handed and turning them over in his hands.

              “You just be careful when you’re cuttin’, or you boys will be crying up a storm into that stew. Trust me, regular sea salt preferred.”

              From what Harry had seen of this Mr. Georges so far he certainly trusted him with produce opinions. The couple listened to him ramble on some about proper growing techniques before Draco produced the paper money with a little something extra in the stack than what he bought cost. These people were hard workers, and deserved every pound.

              Harry took note of the generosity as Mr. Georges did in his counting, looking to Draco about to ask if he was sure when Draco raised a hand. “Thank you, Mr. Georges. Give our best to Mrs. Georges, please.”

              “God bless and keep you,” Mr. Georges finished, tucking the bills away into his overalls.

              Similar scenes of niceties played out with Mrs. Haberdash and Ms. Li with their tomatoes and carrots, both women shaking Harry’s hand, saying how nice it was to meet him. The women obviously turned to one another to gossip as soon as the two men left their section of the market, but that was fine. Harry and Draco both had experience being talked about, and this was nothing compared to the scathing remarks of wizards who knew absolutely everything around them.

              They could be any two men in the world in front of these Wiltshire farming folks, a regular doctor and whatever Harry’s cover story was that day. Just two blokes, clearly romantically involved but nothing else quite standing out about them. Muggles could be so refreshing sometimes.

              Ms. Lethenbacker with her potatoes both raw and fried were next on the list, a couple of kids operating the fryer that from the look of them were somehow related to the woman, all sporting pale skin and blonde hair.

              “Well look who it is, Mister Malfoy,” Ms. Lethenbacker chirped. “Timmy, put on a potato for the man, would ya?” she barked at kid next to the fryer.

              “Two, please,” Draco pointed out Harry next to him.

              “Right. Two,” she corrected back to the kid, obviously displeased.

              “I’m _bored_ ,” announced one child who was laying on the ground ripping up grass.

              “Nieces and nephews, what are you gonna do?” she asked.

              Harry blinked because he really didn’t know what he was ‘gonna do’ about that. Teddy was always a joy to look after on the rare occasions he worked up the courage to see him, and though more hyperactive Bill and Fleur’s kids were sweet when fed.

              “Right, so this is Harry Potter,” Draco went on with introductions.

              “Tracy Lethenbacker. Please, call me Tracy, Harry. Your handsome doctor friend never does. Aren’t you two looking good enough to eat? He a doctor too?”

              “So, Ms. Lethenbacker,” Draco said pointedly. “We’ll take a pound of the potatoes with our spirals.” Frankly he was a little freaked out that ‘Tracy’ wasn’t seeing the obvious, or maybe was purposefully ignoring it. She had always hit on Draco when he came here but Draco had hoped that was the light-hearted flirting of a straight woman and a gay man having a laugh together. Uh-oh.

              “Load up the bag, Kenny,” she said to the next child, tossing them a sack. She had red-framed sunglasses on but Harry could catch glimpses of her eyes shimmering beneath them. Uh-oh, indeed.

              Draco leaned further into Harry and Harry did the same, the two of them pressed far closer than she could possibly read as platonic friends, right?

              “Any plans aside from cooking today, boys? You have my number, right?”

              “I don’t own a phone,” Draco reminded her, so glad that he could.

              “And we do have plans,” Harry said, catching on to the desperate looks Draco was throwing him. “It’s date night, after all.” He put an arm around Draco and squeezed his shoulder. “Cooking together can be so romantic, don’t you think?”

              Only then did the pieces of the puzzle fall into place for Ms. Lethenbacker. Her eyes went so wide her mascara could be seen bulging from behind her shades. “Oh, you’re--? I mean, you two are, um.” This kind of thing only happened in the city where they held those parades, right? Tracy was thrown entirely off her game to know gays could step foot outside of Soho.

              “Yes, we’re primary school sweethearts,” Harry answered in his sappiest voice of confirmation. “Oh, the stories I could tell you about what a courter this one is. Our prom was everything I ever dreamed of.”

              Draco held back a shit-eating grin. “Yes, and you still look stunning in suits. Let’s not bore her with tales of our playground dates, sweetheart,” Draco played along. “You’ll be seeing a lot more of Harry now, you know. It had only been a day since we had our ten-year reunion but I popped the question—would you move in with me?—and he said yes! Isn’t that wonderful?”

              Tracy Lethenbacker was speechless. The entire romance in her head she had constructed around the well-dressed man at the market with his mysterious riches was dashed right before her eyes and replaced with something she found weird and unfamiliar. “Well. It’s,” she said, shaking her head as her face did its best impression of Mrs. Haberdash’s tomatoes. “It’s sure something.”

              “Here you go!” said the kid named Kenny, holding out a bag for Harry. He loaded them into the caddy, near-full now.

              “And your spirals,” spoke the kid at the deep-fryer. She held forth the tower of fried potato sprinkled in salt, carved out for optimal eating. Draco took those and handed one to Harry.

              “Cheers, love,” Draco said, touching their spirals together like clinking wine glasses.

              “Cheers, love,” Harry echoed.

              They both bit in, both giving hums of approval.

              “Delicious as always, Ms. Lethenbacker. Kids,” Draco nodded to the children with more reverence than the adult woman. He produced the money for the spirals and potatoes and gave it to Ms. Lethenbacker, and then produced two more large bills for the children, one each.

              “Wow! Thanks, mister! I can buy a whole video game with this!”

              “Yes, right, buy some games and videos,” Draco nodded, not understanding.

              Harry snickered and helped himself to more of the tasty treat. He didn’t even know one could prepare potatoes like this, like one giant chip. “Is there anything else we need?” Harry asked of Draco.

              “That’s all. I have fresh sweetcorn at home already,” Draco said, going over his mental checklist one last time. “Yes, that was all we needed. Let’s go home.”

              “Yeah, let’s go home,” Harry nodded, one hand on his snack and the other on the trolley of ingredients.

              Tracy Lethenbacker said something but neither of them heard her. Draco was in awe of Harry—could he really be thinking of the Manor as a home already? They turned for the exit both sporting pinker cheeks.

              “Where did you learn this recipe?” Harry asked, the sounds and smells of the market fading as they walked back towards the road leading out.

              “On a trip to Spain a few years ago I had it at a small family restaurant. The dish isn’t really anything complicated but I can never get it to taste like it did there—I can come close, though, and that is pretty damn good. Occasionally I’ll bastardize it and add udon when I’m making it for someone sick—the world’s most savory chicken-noodle soup.”

              “What were you doing in Spain?” Harry asked.

              “I spent a weekend there with Theo once to help him get over a breakup,” Draco shrugged. “Barcelona was nice during the day but I liked it best at night, in the clubs drinking like fish. I can get a little… carried away when I’m with my friends.”

              Harry raised his eyebrows. “I would love to see you dance on a bar, I won’t lie.”

              Draco laughed a full, hearty laugh. “That obvious, huh? Yes, I’ve danced on a few in my days. Maybe one day you’ll be fortunate enough to see it.” Talking about this forced Draco to imagine a world in which Pansy and Harry could be in the same bar together somehow and that was probably impossible, right? Draco looked over to Harry biting his lower lip as he tried to decide whether Harry actually meant that, that he would go out with his friends.

              Sensing his hesitation, Harry looked to Draco and swallowed his bite of potato spiral. “What is it?” Harry asked, voice small.

              “You’ve done nothing wrong,” Draco assured him quickly. Now that the Farmer’s Market was behind them they had nothing but open fields around them, and a long walk back to the Manor. “I was simply thinking. About my friends, specifically. You want to know something?” Draco chuckled. “Pansy encouraged me to reply to your ad. I think she’d faint if she knew what she was actually pushing back then.”

              “So she still hates me, huh?”

              “What—? No, Harry, no, she does not hate you. Pansy Parkinson reserves hate for those who deserve it and you don’t, not to me and not to her.” Draco realized he was coming on strong in his defense of her but all Pansy had ever done was defend him, so how could he not return the favor? Draco took a breath to calm down. “Funnily enough she thinks the same of you, that you hate her because she wanted to give you up,” he recalled of one drunken night spent venting to each other.

              Harry shook his head. “No, that’s not right. I don’t hate her. She was scared and she thought it would avoid bloodshed. We were just kids.” Did Draco and Pansy talk about Harry separately from the ad? Harry so wished he knew what the content of those discussions were, what Draco said about him.

              “We were,” Draco agreed quietly. He wondered if Harry gave himself that same reminder, that same grace about his own actions. It was clearly easier for him to forgive others than to forgive himself. Draco’s heart ached for Harry and all he’d been through.

              “Well, if neither of us hate each other,” Harry reasoned. “I guess we’re pretty much strangers again. I know you’ve been ignoring her owls—they keep scratching at the window in the mornings.”

              “Hers and Theo’s and Blaise’s,” Draco confirmed of the unanswered messages, not wanting to lie or shrug it off. “I’m occupied at the moment and will get back to them. It’s not uncommon for me. They at least value my privacy for all else of my sanity they violate. What are you trying to get at here, Potter?” Draco asked and used his last name to fire him up about it.

              Harry huffed and stuck his lower lip out. “I’m not trying to get at anything, Daddy,” he said sweet as sugar, eyelashes batting. “But,” he returned to his normal voice. “What are you going to tell them when this week is up?”

              After taking a moment to think carefully about his answer, Draco replied. “That I responded to an ad and I met someone, and I really quite like him,” he said, corners of his mouth twitching up. “We don’t have to tell them who you are if you don’t want to. We don’t have to tell them anything. They _will_ know I’m getting laid, though, so that’s something I can’t bluff my way out of. What do you want me to tell them?”

              “That’s fine,” Harry went with Draco’s first answer. “Yeah, that sounds good. I think I’m going to say about the same to Ron and Hermione when the week is up, that I met someone and we took a vacation together. I… really can’t tell them how we met again or what we do aside from dates, I think I’ll die of embarrassment. You’re lucky your friends can talk about that kind of stuff,” he pointed out.

              “And when they press to meet this mystery man because they’re nosy and also care about you?” Draco inquired, curious and lilting to imply there was no wrong answer here. Discretion had been their first bonding principle in text before they even knew each other’s identities. Draco would understand if Harry wanted to keep all of this under wraps not just from the public but from his friends. ‘Ex-Death Eater’ still applied, probably especially to war veterans.

              “Then…” Harry trailed off, trying to separate all the noises in his head into categories, into voices and feelings and Harry’s reactions to them. “Then I’ll tell them, after some more weeks of stalling because I can totally pull that off with them, that I’m seeing Draco Malfoy.”

              “You don’t have to tell them,” Draco reminded Harry softly but Merlin how he wanted to believe Harry was telling the truth.

              “But I will,” Harry said. “I don’t really keep secrets from them, not ones this big. The two of them are like siblings. They love me, and I love them, and if they really, truly understood how happy you make me—how good you make me feel about myself, and life, and—I dunno,” Harry rambled, losing track of some words in his passion. “Everything. Once they know that they can’t be mad for long. At least I hope not.”

              Draco’s wax heart melted next to Harry’s flame. “I think the same of you,” Draco told him, silver eyes bright. “And I think the same of my friends. They will be… likely intolerable at first, but after they get their jokes out they’ll calm down.”

              “I can’t tell which will be more mortifying, their jokes or Ron and Hermione’s inquiries,” Harry replied darkly.

              “I can play nice with Weasel and Granger,” Draco shrugged off before realizing what he’d said. “Er.”

              “They’re the Granger-Weasleys now,” Harry informed him. “And they’re going to expect a few more apologies from you.”

              “Yes, well, would they like a vial of my blood as well? A love potion test?” Draco prodded.

              “And here I thought you were going to play nice. Come on, you know exactly how to push their buttons like you do mine and you have to restrain yourself when the time comes. I can give rewards, too,” Harry reminded Draco.

              Blonde eyebrows went up next. “Oh? Bribing me into being nice to your friends with sex? What a minx you’re turning out to be through my training.” Voicing his desires had been the focus of their conversation last night, and how better to help Harry speak the words he found shameful or dirty.

              Harry giggled, full-on giggled, and his face heated up to hear the sound of it.

              “Well, either way, I fully accept,” Draco assured him. “You needn’t behave yourself for my friends, perhaps quite the opposite, because they’re foul bitches when they want to be. Please return all snide remarks as is customary. They won’t get offended; that’s just how we communicate.”

              “Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini—and what about Goyle?” Harry would never forget how his heartrate spiked when he saw Draco flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as a kid, for it meant Draco was coming into the conversation cocky and confident.

              “Goyle and I meet for drinks once a month. He’s more of a pub bloke, and that’s fine. He’s gone steady with a Hufflepuff from our year and works in Knockturn Alley.” It had been shaken down by Aurors before but there was nothing illegal there, just some darker-than-most magic. Nothing wrong with that in Draco’s eyes. “It was hard for him to get work with his name. I know the feeling.”

              It couldn’t be easy at all. Harry admired how Draco had persisted in being a Healer, for few were more hated than the Malfoys after the war. With Tom Riddle dead the people wanted a justice they could carry out, and many attempts had been made on the Malfoys' lives in the years following. Harry had seen some of the files at the Auror Academy, but they didn’t say much and soon enough he lost access to them altogether.

              “And then there are the owls from my parents. One is due soon,” Draco spoke like one would of a coming storm. “I hope you understand why I won’t be mentioning anything about this in my upcoming reply.”

              Harry nodded. “That I can understand. But if they try to set you up with any pureblood boys then you can’t see them. We said monogamous.”

              “Wow, Harry, a true Gryffindor turning such a lovely shade of green,” Draco teased. “I will not be forced into another arrangement by my parents, no, not even another shitty ‘blind’ date like they tried that one time in ’04. We said monogamous and I still am fully in favor of it.”

              Harry’s shoulders relaxed. “Alright, then.” It wasn’t a bad plan, especially when it wasn’t like Draco’s parents could show up under probation anyway. That really was what cemented the feeling of safety and home there, too.

              “Are you still fully in favor of this stew?”

              “Yes, and that potato spiral was delicious. Makes me want more potatoes, so let’s do this.” In the distance Malfoy Manor stood, half a shell and half a white palace. Harry’s heartrate went up just to look at it, to imagine what could be built next.

              What would be made next, of course, was stew.

*** *** ***

              “Could I tell you something,” Draco said rather than asked. “That will sound like I’m being sappy but I promise is an objective truth?”

              Harry smiled, putting out his other foot so Draco could fasten the silken strips around Harry’s left ankle to the leather ‘X’ he had unshrunk from his collection of furniture for later placement. “Sure, Daddy.”

              “You are the most gorgeous doll I’ve ever dressed. Ever,” Draco informed him, fingertips light as he tied the silk into a neat bow.

              “Dra _co_ ,” Harry said, blushing and not believing him in the slightest. When Draco said sweet things like this it was hard to believe he was speaking about him, and Harry ate it up.

              “Objective truth,” Draco reminded him sternly, giving the side of his leg a little swat. “You look incredible.” Draco looked up, eyes first wandering up the edge of the pink silk teddie Harry had on that fit snug enough to give everything beneath away.

              Panty-lines on The Boy Who Lived, what a dream. Draco licked his lips thinking about how he wanted to lick them.

              The knickers beneath were an innocent white, soft cotton. Draco’s gaze drifted up Harry’s skirt, a hand climbing up the inside of his knee to slide up his thigh. “Look at you. So supple and spread. Your arms are next—you’ll be completely immobilized for this.”

              Harry nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m… excited.”

              “You are? Good. Because I wasn’t kidding when I said all that bratty behavior came at a price. But that’s why you acted out in the first place, isn’t it? Well, Harry, I’ve come to collect.” Draco rose to his feet, reaching with his next pink ribbon for Harry’s right wrist. He bound it tight to the leather-covered X-frame and made another bow with it once he was done.

              With only one arm left free to move the reality of being totally bound was sinking in with Harry like icy water dripping down his back. He presented his left wrist with no hesitation, riding whatever wave of feeling this was to see where its natural conclusion lie bound facing this cross. Draco bound the last wrist with a bow, all wrapped around like shackles before becoming fixed to the frame, and Harry shivered.

              “Go on then,” Draco offered, a hand sliding up and down the small of Harry’s back through the fabric of his nightie. “Test my knots, see if you can get out.”

              Harry closed his fists around the silk and pulled gently at first, and then with some force. He really couldn’t get out of these. His wand was right to the side, of course, so he could be out in a second with Diffindo, or using the safeword, but that wasn’t what he wanted—Harry wanted to be stuck like this. His heartrate rose significantly, pounding in his ears while all his eyes had to behold ahead of him was the leather cross-section.

              Two hands came from behind him to gently lift off his glasses, placing them on the table next to his wand. This empty ballroom Draco had grand plans for but for now it was the biggest open space in the Manor beside the entrance hall, so he’d elected to start Harry’s training for the day in the room with the biggest, widest windows in the Manor.

              Nobody could see over the ferny plants that Draco had planted and grown around the Manor, but the wide white windows still made Harry feel exposed, sun shining on his back.

              “Can’t get out, can we?” Draco teased because of course he couldn’t, these knots only wound tighter when they were pulled on. “Then it’s time to begin.”

              Draco turned around to the other two pieces of furniture he’d used the expansion spell on, a chaise lounge and a workshop table. Atop the table was the leather case holding the variety of instruments Harry would be suffering under today, a spectrum of pain to see which noises Draco liked out of him best.

              Harry shifted on his feet, the heels he had on making it hard to stand up straight but the binds he had on forcing him to. It made him feel unstable as if suspended, his stomach dropping with each attempted movement of his legs.

              Watching Harry fidget on the frame in that tiny night dress had Draco half-hard already. He’d shed his shirt when they began and all that was left were his white trousers and pants.

              The first thing Draco did when approaching from behind was grab Harry’s arse, one hand to each globe so he could lift them, squeeze them, play with them. “You’re going to be pinker than your dress by the time I’m done with you,” Draco purred into his ear, pressing his chest to his back. “Say ‘mercy’ when you want it but I can’t guarantee I’ll give it.”

              Harry swallowed. “Yes, Daddy.” His cheeks kept burning to think of what he must look like to Draco right now, legs spread and completely vulnerable.

              “Then down these go,” Draco narrated, pushing Harry’s knickers to his knees and hiking up the already-short skirt of the dress so Harry’s backside was exposed. “There you are.” Draco pinched Harry’s arsecheeks hard and smirked at the noise Harry made. “My pretty little slut.”

              “You think I’m pretty, Daddy?” Harry asked, swallowing.

              A big, genuine smile overtook Draco’s face. “Yes, I do. I think you’re the prettiest thing I have ever laid eyes on, the way you light a fire in my stomach asking simple questions like that. You are so, so pretty, Harry Potter—I have always thought so.” Draco brought his hand down hard on the outside of Harry’s thigh.

              “Ah!” Harry gripped his bindings.

              “And you’re going to be even prettier when I’m done painting you like a canvas,” Draco concluded, bringing his hand down to smack the other thigh.

              Harry jumped, surprised by the sting but not repulsed by it.

              “You’ve mentioned liking pain—now’s your chance to prove it.” Draco’s flat palms made contact with the backs of Harry’s thighs and the bound man saw stars. “Yes, here’s where it really hurts, doesn’t it?” Draco clapped the seat of his thighs again, even harder this time.

              The noise that came out of Harry was a mix of a moan and a sob. “I like it,” Harry whispered. His thighs hated him for saying that but he did, he liked to feel Draco behind him enjoying his pain. That sneer he could feel pointed at the back of his head made Harry’s exposed cock twitch.

              “You like this?” Draco moved his hands up in an act of mercy, this time bringing his hands down on the globes of Harry’s arse. A red trail was developing up Harry’s legs that made Draco lick his lips.

              Draco Malfoy admired submissives, even looked up to them in secret. He knew himself, and he knew he’d have a hell of a time taking orders and pain. He bruised like a banana and was fiercely distrusting, while Harry had placed all of his trust in him in the span of a few days. Sure, they were hardly strangers given their history, but Draco couldn’t see what Harry was doing in submitting as anything other than deeply noble.

              “Yes,” Harry breathed. “It hurts,” he went on with a ragged breath. “But it’s, fuck, it’s—I’m—I like it.”

              Draco spanked Harry’s arse with all the strength he knew the other man needed and turned his cheeks red where he was slapping them. “What do you like about it?”

              Harry huffed, unsure how Draco expected him to articulate this right now, and got a particularly hard spank to the left cheek for it. “Ah! I, I mean—“ Harry was cut off with another one to the right cheek with the same force. “It aches well. It, it burns like sex in the arse and, it’s—I mean it’s _you_.”

              With a slight pause, Draco began giving tight pinches all over the areas he’d reddened. “And what does that mean?”

              Shifting his weight but ultimately unable to move, Harry had nowhere to lean but into the pinches, yelps and all. He teetered on his heels with nothing to do but take it, just as he’d wanted. “It’s you, Draco, you’re so good at this and you make me feel safe, like, like everything is okay. Even when it’s not, and... Hits have always felt like kisses from you.”

              No air entered or left Draco’s lungs. He switched to gently rub the abused skin, earning a little shiver from Harry for his kindness. Did Harry even know what he was saying in this haze of sensation? Probably not, subspace did strange things to the brain, Draco told himself and reeled back for a hard slap on the arse across both cheeks.

              “Daddy!” Harry called for him, skin tingling and prickling.

              “Daddy’s here, sweetheart,” Draco found his voice again, low and dark. “You’ve been very good so far, but I did promise you were in for it. Breathe, darling, and feel what you get when you’re a sassy brat and get Daddy’s special kisses.” Draco spanked him in rapid-fire succession until his own hand was red.

              One of Harry’s best qualities, according to Draco, was exactly what a sassy brat he could be. This game of punishment and reward meant Harry acting out was a cry for his Daddy, a cry to be taught a lesson like he’d asked for in his ad.

              “Remember what that feels like,” Draco instructed, taking some mental notes on Harry’s reactions down to the little arches in his back when he wanted more. “Because you’ve been bad enough to earn Daddy’s hand _and_ the crop.”

              A cold shiver ran up Harry’s spine, his toes curling in his heels. He’d had some, albeit more amateurish, spanking in his life from a man’s hand but never a toy on top of the bruises already forming from how damn hard Draco’s hand was.

              Draco turned and grabbed the sleek black riding crop, testing it a few times in the air to make some satisfying swishing noises. He saw how Harry strained against his bonds, the nightie he had on gone damp with sweat and clinging to his skin. There was much more sweat to come.

              When Draco first pressed the crop to the inside of Harry’s knee it was gentle and smooth, gliding up his ‘painted’ thighs one at a time. That really had Harry quivering against the cross, his cock visibly hard.

              When he reached between Harry’s legs Draco gave his balls a teasing tap with the crop, gentle but more than enough to make Harry squirm with fear. He’d taken a few Bludgers to the groin in his Quidditch career and he wasn’t eager to relive the feeling. Maybe something less painful could be fun, but for now he wasn’t even sure how the crop would feel on his regular skin.

              That changed in an instant, though, when the crop collided with his arsecheek.

              A stripe of pain struck Harry further than skin-deep, a hit he felt in his very muscle. “Fuck!” Harry roared, bucking against the X-frame.

              “And how does that feel?” Draco inquired almost scientifically, slapping the other cheek with the leather tongue hard enough to leave a mark.

              “Fuck, fuck, it hurts—but don’t you dare stop. I want to feel it, I want your punishment.”

              “Good boy.” Draco used crop on his thighs next, getting even louder cries of shock from the bound man. “You know you deserve it?”

              “Yes, I do,” Harry gasped, taking shaky breaths between impacts. The noise the crop had made in the air was nothing compared to it hitting his raw skin. _Thwap._ Harry had never felt anything so blissfully sharp, not like a blade but still biting. “I’m a whore.”

              “A whore with a big mouth,” Draco snipped, giving him the crop and ogling how his arse jiggled when it was struck. “Harry Potter, a gay whore for hire—aren’t you glad I’m your Daddy now and not those other pathetic men?”

              Harry’s limbs were shaking, his legs wobbling even worse because of the heels. “Yes,” he answered, voice thin. “Yes, Daddy, thank you, Daddy.” Harry’s mouth moved and he didn’t even realize it, words flowing more freely than breath. “None of them could have been my Daddy; it always had to be you.”

              Fuck, if Harry kept talking like this Draco might go and do something incredibly stupid like fall in love with him or something. What an absolute joy Harry was when he was properly beaten, properly brought to the edge of his own shame and deepest desire blathering complete nonsense.

              “You’re damned right,” Draco agreed, giving Harry’s arse a final hard whack. Harry jumped, his arse covered in horizontal stripes and imprints of the leather head.

              “Th-th-thank you…”

              “So polite, so sweet when you learn your lesson,” Draco purred in his ear. He put the crop back down on the table so he could press both palms to Harry’s arsecheeks, soothing the angry red skin giving off heat. “Look at you,” Draco marveled down at him, hands moving in slow circles. “Red in all the right places. I think you’re ready for me now.”

              Harry nodded, head cottony and soft when Draco rubbed the skin he’d hurt before. “Yes, please,” Harry requested.

              He was floating but tethered to reality more than he’d been in years. Draco had pushed him and pushed him and had known just when he was starting to go numb to it. How was Draco so good at this? Harry’s vision was splotchy, head light from what felt like all the blood in his body having rushed to his groin and behind.

              “I see how hard you are, love,” Draco murmured. “And how hard it is for you to keep standing like this. I’ll take you down, and take you as mine.”

              “Yes…” Harry whispered, eyelashes fluttering. He felt Draco’s nimble fingers come up to undo the binding on his left wrist, and then the other.

              Draco placed Harry’s hands onto the sides of the frame. “Hold on tight, sweets, I’m getting your ankles now.” Draco pressed his hands over Harry’s to make sure his grip was firm enough. He sunk down to quickly undo the remaining knots, freeing Harry entirely. “Stay still, stay still,” he warned until he rose, putting his hands on Harry’s sides. “Don’t try and move too quickly. Let me lead you.”

              Harry wasn’t sure how much he could move in the first place, world pleasantly fuzzy and foggy. He honestly couldn’t remember how but somehow Draco guided him to the chaise lounge, his hands feeling the red velvet curiously as he was lifted onto his hands and knees, knees still bound with his panties.

              In this position Harry’s lingerie dress fell back down to cover some of his arse, so Draco quickly moved it away. He wouldn’t take it all the way off, though, not when Harry so enjoyed being dressed and pretty for him.

              “Another small mercy,” Draco led with and undid the strappy heels Harry wore, tossing them to the side. “You’re welcome.”

              “Thank you, thank you for all of this…” Harry breathed deep, whole body tingling. When he felt Draco’s hands press to his arse again he winced from the pain. That only made him all the harder, too, to know Draco’s skin would be slapping against his again soon.

              Draco smiled wide. “You’ll be thanking me for a lot more than that soon. You ready for my cock?”

              “Yes, Daddy,” Harry answered and wriggled against the lounge, getting comfortable and resting his head to the side so that he could look back up at Draco.

              Draco spread his cheeks to see Harry’s hole, casting his eyes to his when he turned his head. “You may come only after I do, don’t you dare get lazy on me.”

              Harry nodded eagerly and, heaven help him, smiled right back at Draco.

              Draco couldn’t help himself. He reached forward to stroke Harry’s cheek. “Such a beautiful smile.” When that smile was directed at him Draco hardly knew what to do with himself. He had to focus, keep his cool; keep the smooth Daddy act up until he was so close to orgasm he couldn’t keep anything up anymore.

              Draco uncorked the endless oil vial he’d summoned to the table earlier and spread it all over his fingers. The first one pressed between Harry’s spread cheeks to make small, teasing circles around his rim.

              With a loud hum Harry leaned back into Draco’s touch. The first finger slid in so easily Harry could hardly believe the lack of resistance he was giving. It seemed his body took to training quickly. That pleased Draco as well, earning a hum of approval in return.

              “See? A few days and Daddy has you so open already. Don’t you feel more relaxed?”

              “Yes,” Harry answered. Physically and emotionally.

              With a twist of his wrist Draco worked his finger in and out of Harry, pressing it to the edge of every wall to stretch him before the second came in to join it.

              Harry tensed slightly at that, earning a mental note and a little laugh from Draco. “Too much?”

              “No, I can take it,” Harry answered stubbornly, backing up on Draco’s fingers to prove his point.

              Fuck, Harry Potter looked incredible fucking himself back like he was desperate for it. “Yes, I see you can,” Draco observed from behind him, eyebrows raised. “I see a lot of things from my view up here I quite fancy.” He ran his other hand over Harry’s marked cheeks, smiling fondly at the memory of giving them to him.

              Lighter than he’d done before for Harry was sensitive but hard enough to draw a yelp, Draco slapped Harry’s arse with his fingers inside of him. He felt the clench instantly, a dizzying tightness to imagine his cock in.

              After a few curls of his fingers Draco found the sweet spot that made Harry moan so breathily again. Draco spread his fingers to add a third in the stimulation, getting deep enough to roll his knuckles.

              All the while Harry’s legs shook like leaves, hips steadied by the hand that had spanked him when he was down and submitting further still. What a sweet kiss indeed.

              “Remind me again,” Draco said in a way that sounded like it was a suggestion but clearly was an order. “Because I seem to have forgotten, and maybe you have, too. Who owns you?”

              Harry swallowed, opening his mouth but hesitating for just a second too long, earning him another, harsher spank. “Ah! You do! You do, Daddy, you own me. I’m yo-ou-ouuurs,” Harry’s response turned to a loud, whiny moan at how far Draco was pushing him open now with three fingers to stretch him.

              “Whose?” Draco asked with a sick laugh.

              “I belong to you,” Harry answered between his shivers. “You’ve kept me, I’m yours—I’m kept.”

              Draco slid all three fingers out at once. “That’s right.”

              Harry whimpered at the absence but was soothed soon again to feel Draco’s hands grip his bruised thighs. “Yes,” Harry willed him on. “Please take me.”

              “I take you when I please,” Draco retorted, pointing his slicked cock at Harry’s hole. “I just happen to be lucky—you’re a slut who’s always in the mood, and you’re _my_ slut. What ever are you going to do when I have to go back to working during the day?”

              Before Harry could answer Draco sunk into him with a raspy groan.

              “Ah,” Draco struggled for breath for a moment for how silky-soft Harry felt inside.

              Harry was seeing splotches of color in his vision, his cock having grown even harder to feel Draco enter him so fully. “I’ll miss you,” Harry said, voice stripped down to near-nothing. “At work. It’ll be harder to not touch myself like you ask when you’re not here to keep me disciplined.”

              “Tut tut, thinking of defying my rules, are you?” Draco demanded, pulling back and slamming forward into him to earn a loud groan out of Harry. “I have toys that hurt much more than the crop and my hand. I could cane your feet until you cry, or tie you up before I leave so I know you won’t do it.”

              Harry shivered with excitement. Not all days, but maybe one day he’d like that. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of defying your rules, Daddy,” Harry grinned cheekily, mouth tugged right after into a gasp from how fast Draco began the pace of his thrusts.

              “You better not—don’t you ever underestimate how creative I can be to make the punishment fit the crime,” Draco growled, thrusting forward at a brutal pace to savage Harry’s hole and sate his own need for friction. He could give a damn about Harry’s cock at the moment, throbbing and leaking everywhere, for Draco had not yet given him permission to come and wouldn’t be touching him there until he did.

              “Ah, ah--!” Harry’s hands scrambled to clutch red velvet and brace himself against the thrusts Draco was giving him,

              The blonde was putting his back and thighs into it, whole body rolling forward when he sunk deep to grind the tip inside Harry. “Fuck,” Draco groaned, treasuring the sounds falling from Harry’s mouth in time with the slap of their skin together.

              Their bodies met in perfect harmony, with Harry now for the fourth time since they’d started that Draco had been inside of him that he was the perfect size. Perhaps that was just his body adjusting, but it worked either way. Draco slotted into Harry easily after the past days of training, and proved his ease now to bring him to the edge.

              “Daddy,” Harry called out, more comfortable with the word than he’d been at the start of this, too. It felt so good to say—it had no emotional attachments to it except for Draco, and the positive association grew with each romp. They’d even fucked once like this with no Dominant or submissive roles, just fucked, and Harry had come so hard he nearly blacked out. “I’m—“

              “I know, sweetheart, you’re hard as a rock,” Draco soothed while his hips slammed into Harry’s again and again. “But Daddy hasn’t given you permission to come yet.”

              Harry squirmed, arse rocking back slightly to take Draco even deeper. He would be a good boy; he would listen to his Daddy. “Yes, sir.”

              Draco beamed at his obedience and the term of respect Harry had decided to attach to him. Was that a ploy by Harry to get Draco to be more lenient? Did Draco care? He kept up the rhythm of his hips to watch how it made Harry’s body undulate and writhe.

              His head turned back over his shoulder again to look at Draco and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Draco looked so focused, so fit when he was moving inside of Harry. “Daddy,” Harry begged quietly.

              “So needy,” Draco teased as he worked his hips. “But I suppose you have done everything I’ve asked. You may come after I do—only if you thank me for my mercy.”

              “Thank you,” Harry responded immediately. “Thank you for your mercy, Daddy. Thank you for your spankings and fuckings and, and— _everything_.” Harry moaned the last word so loud it echoed in the empty ballroom.

              That last moan caught Draco deep in his gut, a burst of warmth and white-hot light leading him forward. “Oh,” Draco gasped, rhythm falling to disorganized thrusts as deeply as he could manage. “ _Harry_.”

              With a few more slaps of their skin, Draco was spilling over the edge and taking up Harry’s offer to do so inside him, his cock jumping and spurting forth white bursts in his already-slick heat.

              “Yes,” Draco groaned. “Yes, yes, yes…” he trailed off to admire the liquid seeping down Harry’s red-striped thighs. Draco continued his steak of mercy to reach around and stroke Harry as he wound down his thrusts, needing only a few pumps before Harry too hit his peak.

              “Daddy!” Harry cried out as his last coherent word, fading to aftershocks and low groans from the release still rocking his body.

              “Good boy,” Draco responded quickly, knowing praise was best administered directly after. He would have much more than cuddling to do for this round of aftercare. “Such a good boy for Daddy…” Draco cooed as he eased out of him, his hands going to rub Harry’s temples.

              “O-Oh,” said Harry of the unexpected head massage. It felt nice, and Draco’s hands on his head guided him easily to laying down on the lounge on his stomach.

              Draco was quick to show affection in other ways, leaning forward over the laying figure to kiss between his shoulderblades twice. “Stay still, I’m not going anywhere,” Draco instructed, leaning back slightly to rummage around on the table.

              Harry was so blissed out face-down on this plush couch he wasn’t quite aware of his surroundings, only of Draco’s voice.

              The next thing Harry felt was a cool, tingling balm applied to the backs of his thighs by Draco’s hand. He shivered at first but vaguely understood the importance of it and after adjusting to the temperature found himself leaning back into Draco’s hands as he spread the balm from his legs up his arse and hips.

              “There,” Draco murmured when he was satisfied with his coating. “Prevents scarring and disinfects broken skin, and it smells like mint.”

              “Let me guess, you brewed it yourself?” Harry asked, having caught onto Draco’s need for specificity in his products.

              “Right you are, love. Does it hurt anywhere else? Your wrists, your ankles?”

              “S’fine,” Harry replied sleepily, feeling like he was sinking even further into the cushions. “I’m fine, just come here, just get over here.”

              Draco checked but the marks seemed light, so he conjured his glass of water for he and Harry to share before curling up alongside him, knowing that he wouldn’t want anything touching his legs or arse after that for they’d be raw at least a few more days. “I’m here,” Draco murmured, crossing their feet together.

              “Good,” said Harry, eyelashes fluttering with the pull of exhaustion. He felt he had nothing left in his body, not a unit more of magic or energy, and that felt oddly nice. Drained but filled—what a bizarre sensation. “Stay here.”

              “I will. You’re mine, remember?” Draco said with a cheeky grin, smoothing a hand over the pink nightie Harry was still wearing, now stained in sweat and come. “You’re my kept man.”

              Closing his eyes Harry smiled, nudging closer and closer until he could rest his nose on Draco’s big, handsome one. Harry could lay here forever. “That I am, Daddy. That I am.”

*** *** ***

              With some annoyance, Hermione knocked again. “Harry.” There was no reply.

              “Harry, seriously,” Ron spoke at the door. “I know you’re upset about something, probably, but please, you have to let us in.”

              “We’re worried,” Hermione emphasized.

              Ron sighed because he knew Harry hated it when she said that but it was true and right. “Look, I get ignoring us for a day, but twice in a row? Harry—are you even in there?”

              Ron and Hermione waited for an answer in silence.

              “When was the last time you saw him?” Hermione asked, voice creeping on panic.

              “Uh, like a week and a half ago? Look, I’ve been busy with the case—“

              “—and I’ve been busy with the deposition but I thought we agreed to not let it go more than a week!”

              “Then why didn’t you check in?” Ron demanded, trying to keep his voice down in case Harry was on the other side of the door listening to them argue. “Ugh, forget it, it doesn’t matter, let’s not argue right now. Where do you think he’s gone?”

              “He’s not at the Burrow,” Hermione began. “Or here, I think.”

              “Then should we…?”

              “Yes.”

              “It’s a bit invasive,” Ron tried to posit but knew what was going to happen in the end.

              Hermione produced a brass key from her charmed purse. “It’s what he gave us this for. Come on, I’m going in.” It fit into the lock and turned, opening the door to Harry’s flat seemingly… cleaned? The lack of crisp bags lying around was a good sign, the couple thought.

              “Harry?” Ron called into the flat, closing the door behind his love and him.

              “He’s not here,” Hermione observed with a bit of surprise.

              “Maybe he’s gone out for groceries, or a walk,” Ron tried.

              “Both yesterday and today? I’m sending a Patronus message. If he’s somewhere that the wards will allow it through then we can ask. I know he said to only use this in emergencies but this is an emergency, Ron.”

              Ron couldn’t help but agree. “Alright, you send out the message. I’ll check out his room for hints to where he is.”

              “Weren’t you the one just saying this was invasive?” Hermione poked fun. “You can’t resist being an Auror about it.”

              That got a laugh out of Ron, shaking his head as he walked into Harry’s bedroom. Well, here was where all the debris had gone. Harry had apparently all shoved it in here trying to make the main living space look clean. Did he have someone over?

              Ron heard Hermione crafting the message in the other room and began snooping through what was on Harry’s nightstand. Two mugs, a dirty plate and a black scroll case—how odd, what was this?

              Ron dropped lower still, knowing Harry’s habits better than anyone and that things of importance were placed under the bed more often than not. It was what Ron didn’t see next that shocked him. “’Mione?” Ron called from Harry’s room, panic risen in his throat. “Hermione?”

              She rushed to the door having just sent her message, eyes wide. What was going on with their beloved, damaged friend? Hermione already felt as if she had failed him. “What is it?”

              “It’s his shoebox,” Ron remarked, disbelieving. “All the important things, his pictures of his parents—it’s gone.”

              “ _Gone_?”

              “Gone. Send another message, one to everyone we trust from the old Order: where is Harry Potter?”

 


	9. Hands Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be an emotional one, friends! TW for talk about suicidal ideation and even more of Harry’s trichotillomania. Keep reading to the end and you and the boys get a nice reward for their suffering, I promise.

              The music box played its familiar tune, scales of chimes and plucks of string, with a charmed clock in the center that read seven o’clock in the morning.

              Harry was stirred from sleep early for the first time in Draco’s bed. He frowned, burrowing deeper into Draco’s chest. The ‘vacation’ had to end eventually.

              During this week away from the world, peace came so easily when he slept with Draco it was almost scary. The depth of his sleep gave him vivid dreams, and for the first time they weren’t nightmares. That was concerning all in itself as well, since Harry knew this lack of night terrors meant a big one was coming up.

              That was a problem for future Harry, though, because sleeping in such a regulated, restful fashion had changed his whole outlook. With meals to mark the morning, afternoon, and night, Harry was on a schedule again, like at Hogwarts but this time he was training in something darker than magic.

              He made a sad little noise, realizing that this chiming tune meant Draco was being taken from him. It would only be a workday’s worth of time but that felt too long right now in the nascent state of their relationship.

              “I know, I know,” Draco murmured, stroking Harry’s hair as he too rose from a deep slumber. Sex before sleep always made the night better in Draco’s not-so-humble medical opinion. It did a body good, working out with someone like that, two hearts pumping and bodies moving in tandem. It was an excellent source of cardio, and released a wash of chemicals like dopamine when done right.

              “But Daddy has to go to work, honey,” Draco went on, kissing Harry’s scar as he’d taken to doing. “There’s plenty to do or not do here, and you can go wherever you want now that we’ve gotten you Floo and apparation access to the grounds. Why don’t you take a bath, treat yourself to a spa day?”

              Draco rose to sitting, rubbing his closed eyes with his fists for a moment before reaching for his wand and turning off the music box with a swish.

              “I’ll see,” Harry shrugged and sank back into the pillows. He might just stay here all day, breathing in Draco’s scent and feeling listless.

              Preventing a frown, Draco smiled. “You can do anything you like. I’ll be back for dinner at six.” He didn’t want Harry moping around like he did in his apartment and had left a number of things around the house conspicuously placed so Harry might take interest in some kind of activity.

              “And I’m cooking,” Harry reminded Draco per their agreement the previous evening. Cooking for Draco was a world away from cooking bland food for the Dursleys because for starters Draco’s palette was wider. He couldn’t handle much spice, which Harry found hilarious, but still took culinary risks in spite of his delicate Caucasian palette.

              At least there was that, Draco used to assure himself that his submissive wouldn’t be too forlorn without him, Harry taking an interest in the kitchen. “I look forward to what you come up with,” Draco replied, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and springing up, fully nude with a few love bites on his right shoulder from Harry.

              Harry looked on the marks and felt calmer, more prepared for the day.

              Silence and indecision lingered in the air for Harry while Draco took his morning shower, a fast one before he emerged in his white robes. Draco looked so fetching in white.

              “Hey,” Harry said, sitting up at the edge of the bed. He winced, bum still sore from the previous evening. “Um, have a good day at work, okay?” Was that what he was supposed to say? The upturn of the corners of Draco’s lips seemed to indicate it well. “I’ll miss you but I’ll be fine.”

              “Harry Potter will miss me,” Draco said aloud, helping Harry to his feet with both hands clasped around his. “That’s never going to get old.”

              Harry rolled his eyes fondly and opened his mouth to snark back at him before his lips were covered in Draco’s. At once Harry’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned forward, returning the kiss tenderly in spite of the pain in his arse. “I’ll be thinking of you—how could I not be when you have me walking so funny?” Harry teased when they parted for breath.

              “If I recall correctly you were the one begging for it, ‘pleeeease, Daddy, pleeeeeeease’,” Draco imitated.

              “Hey!” Harry said back, giving Draco’s own arse a pinch through his robes. “I do not sound like that.”

              “Sure, Harry. Whatever helps you sleep at night after I fuck you senseless.”

              “ _That_ is what helps me sleep at night,” Harry laughed, and Draco laughed too, the pair leaning into one another.

              “So you slept well? No nightmares?” Draco was concerned Harry might hide them from him out of embarrassment or shame, two things that were fun in bed but outside of it—not so much.

              Harry shook his head. “None yet. They’ll come,” he murmured. “But, until then… I’m really happy you have this job, and proud of you for how many people you’ve helped—saved even. I’ll be here for you when you get back, Daddy.”

              Draco kissed him again because how could he not when he said such sweet, genuine things? Using his title melted Draco’s heart and stirred something in his gut but he ignored it as best he could. He put his hand on Harry’s cheek. “Daddy will be back before you know it. Then we can do whatever you want after our dinner, just us two.”

              “I’d like that.”

              “Remember, you may be my kept man but you’re living for you and only you. Put yourself first today. Goodbye, darling.” Draco gave Harry one last peck on the mouth before turning and heading for the door feeling like he could take on a giant today. Harry made him feel strong, and important, and wanted—and after that little pre-work pep talk Harry had Draco feeling invincible.

              “Goodbye, Daddy.”

              Harry watched him walk away with a feeling of dread, like he might never see him again, and even though he knew it was irrational it scared him. The moment Draco was out of the room Harry crawled back into bed, wrapped in the sheets of their lovemaking so he could breathe them in deep, clinging to the ghost of Draco Malfoy like he had long before this arrangement. Six o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

*** *** ***

              Draco bid his patient farewell and wished them better luck on the Quidditch field—had that been a new record on number of broken bones Draco had seen in one person? He pondered it as he strolled the hall, on his way to a well-deserved break in his office.

              Standing outside of it, though, was a nervous-looking intern twiddling his thumbs.

“You’ve, um,” began the intern. Which one was he? Short, scrawny, was he Jeremy or Blake? Bleremy? No, that wasn’t right. “Well, first things first, welcome back, Healer Malfoy.”

              Draco raised a suspicious brow. Who put this poor boy up to speaking to him? Draco looked around but no interns were standing behind him giggling like they did when they made the new students talk to the ‘scary ex-Death Eater’ and ask stupid questions. “Thank you,” Draco said and looked expectantly for whatever was to follow.

              “You’ve got a patient! Room 204. She’s really intent on seeing you now. Right now.”

              “I don’t recall having anyone on the second floor today,” Draco frowned.

              “She’s asking for you by name, really insistent.”

              Draco’s frown deepened when he realized he wasn’t getting his break now. “Fine,” he huffed. “Thank you, then, and get on your way.”

              The intern scampered off looking over his shoulder like Draco might chase him. Draco, rolling his eyes, did not. What he did do was turn on his heel towards the stairs past medi-witches escorting a group of children through the hospital. Thankfully none recognized him for he hadn’t been in the papers for a hot minute.

              They might soon, Draco thought bitterly to himself, if anyone found out who was hiding out in his Manor and what they were getting up to. There were few people he could trust with this secret.

              Pansy would drag it out of him eventually, he supposed, but Draco would be lying if he said he hadn’t been avoiding her all day for that very reason. She knew him too well, and Draco feared she might see his Potter-fucking smugness a mile away. It was too specific an emotion for her to miss.

              Draco walked past the poison wing and towards the general patients section of the second floor. There were some patients from the past that could have asked for him by name, but how had they known to send the intern after him?

              “Healer,” Draco announced outside of room 204 with a knock to the door.

              “Please,” came an elderly voice, strangely scratchy. “Come in.”

              Draco entered and closed the door behind him. “I’m told you asked for me by name, what seems to be the—“ Draco turned around to see none other than Pansy Parkinson sitting pretty on his patient slab. “Merlin’s balls, Pansy.”

              “You were avoiding me!”

              “I was not avoiding you,” Draco lied poorly.

              Pansy gave her best pout, arms crossed. “I’m hurt, really, that you would not want to see me.”

              “So hurt you scared that poor intern half to death?”

              “I was just having a little fun with him,” Pansy waved off. “But more important than little Bleremy is the man I _know_ you spent the week with. What’s his name? What’s he like in the sack, and how big?”

              “You are such a classic romantic,” Draco deadpanned.

              “By the beard of Salazar Slytherin, are you falling for him? Are you romancing him? Draco, if you don’t tell me everything right now, I am going to lose my mind!” Pansy’s voice was rising in excitement and it was getting a lot harder for Draco now—she was really happy for him. Draco’s resolve was weak with how sappy Harry had him feeling.

              “It was you who told me to contact him,” Draco admitted with a small, shy smile. Pansy was a stalwart friend and Slytherin, so maybe if he didn’t use Harry’s name... “He was the one I was thinking of.”

              “I love being right,” Pansy sighed adoringly towards herself before returning her attention to Draco. “Okay, so, what was the first meeting like? What about the first time? Come on, give me something, I’m dying here.”

              Draco pursed his lips in a tight smile. Yes, he could talk about the date, perhaps… Ah! This was how she always got him! “Well, I’ll have you know I took him on a date. Bar to meet, then tailor to a tailor to get him a decent suit—“

              “Your one in Diagon Alley?”

              “No, the closest muggle one. He was skilled, trust me. Then we went to a dessert place, and then…” Draco paused for dramatic effect. “Back to my place. And from there we spent the week together.”

              Pansy absolutely lit up, hands coming together clasped. “He saw the Manor?”

              “It’s where we spent the week, so, yes. He knows who I am, what I’ve done, and all that.” Draco knew that was what she meant by her emphasis on his home. It was Malfoy Manor, the site of horrific atrocities that haunted wizardingkind still. “More importantly he knows what I do now, which is heal. I hope you know this is taking time away from patients.”

              “Oh, no, I actually am your patient today. I only ask for the best after all, darling. Now, could you take a look at this rash?” she unzipped her knee-high boot and pointed.

              Draco took a measured sigh. “And I assume you’re going to interrogate me the entire time?”

              “Oh, absolutely.”

              He snapped on his gloves and cracked his neck. He could do this—he just had to keep Harry’s name and details out of it. “Then let’s begin.”

*** *** ***

              Harry wanted to use the excuse that he was recovering from the best sex of his life and therefore deserved to rest the bruises that came with it, but something he’d said on that first night crept up on him. Harry had said he wanted to earn his keep in the home, too. The Manor needed a lot of work, but what was done was impeccable.

              It took a couple of hours of lazing about in bed pondering for Harry to come upon a decision. That decision was that if he lay here any longer the pile of hair he was pulling out would become a mountain, so he needed to leave immediately.

He would start his exploration outside first, in the empty gardens.

              He gathered up his boxers from the night before and put them on. He could technically be naked here with how Draco had warded anyone but the two of them from entering, but the expansive halls inspired some shame in Harry he couldn’t explain, like he’d be walking Hogwarts naked.

              Hogwarts had been his home for so long. It was always a place of mysteries and duels but its becoming a warzone still shook Harry to his core. He shook the images of his dead godfathers from his eyes and walked into his room. He didn’t sleep here much on their ‘vacation’ after the first few nights, but he was glad to know it was there. Draco really had thought of everything.

              Harry changed into a long-sleeve white cotton shirt and thick brown trousers to hide what might be dirt. He had given up on plants since Hogwarts, but if he focused hard enough past the noise and guilt he could recall Pomona Sprout’s voice saying something about soil quality. He had the power of the internet in his pocket, too, with endless knowledge on muggle planting practices.

              After gearing up with his wand and glasses he was ready to take on the challenge. This was a strange feeling—a familiar one, but a lost one. He had the energy to start something and didn’t feel crushed by the burden. The project was so large, so what could he really do? Grow one tree? Harry found an odd comfort in the impossibility of the task of restoring the Malfoy gardens fully.

              He would do his best, and it would be a physical task that could take up his time between seeing Draco.

              The only established elements in the rear lawn were the thick, leafy plants on the perimeter and keeping it private, and green grass well-trimmed in the center of it. Harry squinted, and in the distance at the edge of the property saw a small building. He began his walk towards it, a pleasant sun warming his back.

              On closer inspection that little building was an adorable green shed with white trimmings, the kind Harry saw in magazines in Healer’s waiting rooms. The double doors were unlatched so Harry walked right in expecting an empty room and finding quite the opposite.

              The room was bigger on the inside as Harry had expected, but it was also packed in wall-to-wall supplies and saplings. There was a small sun and stars rotating over some seedlings marked as flowers in their tiny cups. It was beautiful magic but ultimately impractical, for if Draco really wanted to fill all this space he’d need a—ah.

              Harry spied the glass panes when the light from the simulated sun reflected off of them. In crates and on top of lumber bundles sat a blueprint of a wood and glass greenhouse.

              It was so neatly-placed—had Draco expected him to come in here?

              Harry opened up the plans and inspected them. He’d never done anything like this before, and that was exactly why he wanted to do it.

              As Harry brandished his trusty wand his confidence was only growing. First things first, a spongy charm on the glass so he wouldn’t break any while moving it. Harry waved his wand wordlessly and the glass went floppy. The wooden frame would come first, and that would require some measuring and cutting with his wand as well.

              This wand had been with him through everything. He overturned it in his hand and tried to remember the wonderful things that magic could do instead of the terrible things he’d witnessed. Harry was happier when he was casting spells, it was true, and he had to remember that.

              It was still exciting to use spells, and now he had a reason to use them. Watching heavy wood lift with his wand effortlessly reminded Harry of his first Wingardium Leviosa lesson, filling him with warmth. He could do this.

              Once all the lumber was outside it was time to form the base. It was time to begin something new, something that would be a source of good in the world, and last beyond him in nurturing life.

              With his mind at peace he set down the perimeter of the space next to the shed, a large project but still nothing compared to this sprawling expanse of green grass.

              Harry would fill it, he decided. He would fill Draco’s life with beauty and flowers, roses and violets because he deserved them and more.

*** *** ***

              After not managing to say Harry’s name or give too many details about his views or circumstance it seemed Pansy’s appointment time was up. Draco cut her off but she seemed pleased with him and herself, so that was good. Talking to his other friends about this might not be so easy—they would push him for names.

              The end of the day came, miraculously, and that meant returning to the apparation-approved section quickly so as to not have to answer more questions from his well-meaning ‘bestie’.

              Draco usually apparated directly back into his home because, well, it was his home. But now he was sharing it, and he didn’t want to surprise Harry too terribly. All while he was bragging to Pansy Draco had been worried Harry wouldn’t even be there when he got back, having finally come to his senses after a week of sex and bailed.

              The fear of being abandoned by the Golden Boy was even worse than the fear of never being noticed by him again, Draco decided, for based on his experiences with both this one gripped his heart much tighter.

              So Draco apparated to his own front door and knocked on it as a warning, waiting a few seconds. No response. Draco opened his door and spoke from the diaphragm so the whole house might hear. “Darling, I’m home,” his voice rang out dulcet and sweet.

              “In the kitchen!” Harry called.

              Draco’s heart dropped through his knees. So Harry was still here and by that smell he was cooking some kind of sauce. “Smells delicious,” Draco announced, removing his Healer robe and hanging it. Harry had even cooked! This was excellent, it meant that at least now Harry was no longer moping in bed.

              “Thanks. This is sort of like potions. I need way more detailed instructions usually to get that right but I think this is decent,” Harry said of the sauce pots.

              Draco turned a corner at the end of his words, an uncontrollable smile taking over his face. Harry was in a pink apron over brown trousers and a cotton shirt with… was that sauce or dirt on it? Harry had gotten up to something today, and that was exactly what Draco had wanted.

              Harry’s smile mirrored Draco’s when they saw each other for the first time in nine hours—oh, insufferable nine hours!—and they looked at each other as thieves to precious jewels each, greedy and reverent.

              In no time at all Draco came to greet Harry with a kiss hello, both men too excited to pull away. They kissed until they were breathless, breaking to little laughs and longing glances.

              “I’m making spaghetti,” Harry said, stirring the pot of sauce and the pot of noodles on the other burner.

              “I love spaghetti,” Draco said because he wanted to encourage the hell out of him. “Do you need any assistance?”

              “Nope,” Harry shook his head. “You can sit down at the counter and keep me company, though. We have a few minutes and then I’ll serve it in the dining room.”

              Draco took a seat on the counter stool and nodded at Harry. The smile he got in return made Draco’s heart feel full. “How was your day?”

              “Good. Started a project, which felt nice. You need a greenhouse for the gardens to start again, and I’m building one.”

              “That’s brilliant,” Draco said as if he hadn’t been the ones to meticulously lay the plans out for him to see. “Let me know if you need extra supplies or support.”

              “How was your day?” Harry moved to strain the pasta in the sink, the smell of fresh noodles piquing Draco’s appetite.

              Hungry and tired, Draco reflected on his day. “I had a good day. It was long, but good. Pansy came to me as a patient today and while I obviously can’t say why, just know she asked about you and I said the brief truth of our meeting of course excluding your identity. It went well.”

              Harry perked up at the stove, making up bowls of spaghetti to serve. “It went well? That’s great.”

              “She does actually love me and want to be happy,” Draco admitted reluctantly. “We can ease her into the truth of who you are. Still, this means I have to update Theo and Blaise with the same or similar information _soon_ because they’ll get jealous if I always tell Pansy everything first. I’ll tell Greg later, he won’t mind at all. You know how it is with straight friends.”

              “Don’t I ever,” Harry mumbled.

              “I mean, who do you even talk to about sex?” Draco asked as Harry approached with their meals and parmesan for the shredding. Draco stood to follow Harry hungrily towards the dining room. “Ah, this looks delicious, thank you.”

              “You’re welcome, and I’ll have you know I don’t talk to anyone about sex,” he informed him as he placed the meals down in the dining room. Draco got the head of the table, and Harry to his right. “For many reasons. The first being that I don’t have a lot of it, past week and a half excluded, and the second that my best friends are like my siblings.”

              Harry pulled out a chair for Draco and Draco sat in it, nodding politely. So Harry Potter could be a gentleman when properly trained. They’d gone over all the right spoons and forks to use in proper mealtime and he’d set up everything as instructed for the meal at hand. “Thank you, really.” Draco hadn’t had anyone cook for him in ages aside from his parents. “And honestly, you never talk to Gr—Hermione or Ron about sex? Even in passing?”

              “In passing, sure, but I don’t want to know what my sister is like in bed from my brother, you know?” Harry tried desperately to avoid the subject even now.

              Draco snorted as Harry sat, more amused than anything. “Fair enough, Harry. At least you have me to talk to about sex. Your frustration before me was probably as legendary as you.”

              “I’m not legendary,” Harry chuckled.

              Draco sampled the spaghetti, humming with pleasure. “This food is. You used the recipe in the book there?”

              “Yes, I saw it laying out ever so inconspicuously,” Harry replied with a sardonic grin. He twirled some spaghetti onto his fork and sampled his work. He hummed too, quite pleased with himself. “The cookbook was appreciated, though.”

              “You do well with instruction,” Draco nodded. “Your ‘Half-Blood Prince’ book was really just detailed and concise things Severus should have been teaching everyone. I got this cookbook out for the detailed diagrams and instructions. There are lots more cookbooks in storage, but I need to get to rebuilding the library to access them all.”

              “A three-story library,” Harry recalled from Draco’s letters that seemed a world away, echoes in his memory of what now stood before him. “Which floors?”

              “Second to Fourth, meaning I need to finish the fourth floor. Ugh, there’s just so much that needs to fit in here to please father…” Draco cleared his throat when he realized he sounded like a kid again, stuffing his face with spaghetti in quiet embarrassment.

              Harry finished his chewing and spoke, having received admonishment for speaking with his mouth full of food in his training. “You can do it, Draco. You’ll get it done for you, like you taught me. I can focus on the outside, and you can on the inside. You know, there should likely be a centerpiece for the whole garden—I was thinking about a fountain. Do you want to pick one out with me on the weekend? We could get it installed, put the space into perspective.”

              “Look at you, talking like a regular artist. Should I leave paints out for you, too? Oh, I think I will,” Draco said, all grins.

              “So you are leaving out things you want me to do.” Harry wasn’t accusing, but he’d figured Draco out soon enough.

              “They are suggestions,” Draco clarified. “I do not like the idea of you moping while I’m away, Harry. Chase that urge away with whatever action you can take. Do not go gentle into that bored night.”

              Harry nodded, putting his fork down a moment. “My motivation was okay today. We’ll see how it is over time. At least two days out of the seven you’re all mine.”

              “This weekend, then, we’ll pick out a centerpiece fountain,” Draco circled back around to the start of this line of thought. “I’m eager to see what catches your eye. Is Harry Potter more of a sculpture man or an abstract sort of artist?”

              “Well… I’m not sure myself,” Harry had to admit. “Some abstract art looks like a kid painted it, and I get that it’s supposed to be brave to just blot one daub of paint on a canvas, but it’s not the kind of thing I’d hang in my home.” Harry laughed bitterly. “I didn’t really hang anything in my home aside from Gryffindors pennants.”

              “Is there anything you’d like to hang in your room here? I promise I’ll only tease you occasionally about the pennants.”

              Harry snorted, twirling his fork. “No, no pennants. Maybe some art, or a poster of… something. I dunno. Whatever excites me, I guess. I know I’ve said this about a thousand ways since we started this whole thing but I didn’t really get excited about much before you. I was in a haze, and not even my favorite things could pull me out of it.”

              But Draco could, was how that sentence ended in both their minds. It made Draco’s heart beat faster. “Ever since we started ‘this whole thing’ as you refer to it, I’ve found you quite easily excitable,” Draco went for the low-hanging fruit of jokes.

              Harry rolled his eyes fondly. Draco was such a shit. “That’s because you’re my new favorite thing. Er, person, I mean,” Harry doubled back on. “Certainly my favorite and my only Daddy.”

              It became easier to say that word every time Harry said it. He blushed a little less, said it a little more factually. James and the guilt surrounding what he’d think of all this felt further away, muted behind a curtain of habit.

              Draco outright preened at that like a proud bird in the mirror. “And you are my favorite and only good boy.” He patted Harry’s head with his free hand while he ate the last of his spaghetti. “Give Daddy a smile?”

              When Draco asked that Harry smiled naturally, laughing a little at the request.

              “There he is. That’s my guy,” Draco beamed in return.

              “You’re ridiculous,” Harry said through his blush, deeply embarrassed but so, so pleased about it.

              Draco opened his mouth to argue that when there was a pounding knock on the front door. He froze, looking to Harry with confusion.

              “Are you—“ Harry was going to ask if Draco was expecting anyone when he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye in the window. It was enough to be a shadow, a phantasm of black and a sort of blue in the large, empty front yard.

              Draco turned around to see what Harry was looking so intently at. Was that movement? What happened to the wards?

              Harry bolted up, wand at the ready just in time to hear a voice break through the walls via magical loudspeaker.

              “DRACO MALFOY, THIS IS THE AUROR DEPARTMENT. OPEN THE DOOR, YOU’RE SURROUNDED!” bellowed a far-too familiar voice to Harry. Loud sirens began to blare, and red and blue lights filled every window.

              “The _what_?” Draco snapped in disbelief. He too stood now, seeing witches in their Auror-blue robes now gathering outside his window in the front yard with wands drawn, lit up by the flashing lights.

              “Auror Weasley, I have a visual on the hostage!” shouted one of them. “Permission to cast?”

              The next minute was complete chaos. The lights and sirens became overwhelming to Harry, leaving him clutching his wand and his ears to try and drown out the noise. He tugged on his hair, mind still racing and unable to piece together what exactly was going on.

              “…down! Put it down!” Draco shouted, voice fading in and out of Harry’s perception. “Put your wand down, Harry, just put your hands up!”

              Draco had his up, his wand in his pocket because he knew when he was outmatched and the last thing he wanted was to give one of these fools an excuse to stun him, or worse. His heart was beating out of his chest but this was hardly the first Auror raid on the Manor after the war. It had been years, though—wait, did someone say ‘hostage’?

              Draco nor Harry could hear if anyone gave permission to fire but a spell came crashing through the front window either way, shattering it entirely.

              As if that was legitimate reason to charge the wizards swarmed the room, stepping over broken glass and mobbing Draco so he was surrounded.

              “On the ground, scum! Get on the ground!” yelled an Auror, their wand shaking in their frightened hands to be pointing it at what they knew as the fearsome ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy. Draco complied with a huff—how disgraceful—but the Auror didn’t seem any less scared.

              Harry’s eyes narrowed. No, this was wrong, it was Draco who was supposed to be the one telling people to get on the ground. “What are you doing?” Harry demanded, having not put his wand away as he was told and charging forward.  “Get off of him!”

              The Auror looked at Harry with wide eyes. There was something so raw, so feral about this man, like the magic in him was pouring forth from his mouth, his eyes, his nostrils in horrible, angry puffs.

“Auror Weasley, Auror Weasley!” they cried over their shoulder. “I think he’s under the Imperius curse!” Two more Aurors flanked them, each one grabbing an arm of Draco’s to haul him to his feet, fumbling with their handcuffs. Harry fumed.

              “I said, GET OFF OF HIM!” Harry shouted, the magical force of his very voice knocking everyone, Draco included, right back onto their arse. Electricity crackled in the air around him, potent magic swirling in the air so thick that Draco could taste it.

              “Harry,” Draco tried quickly from his place on the floor. It was easy to forget his sweet, gentle man was the most powerful wizard alive, capable of striking a deeper fear than even Draco’s reputation afforded him. The wandless, wordless magic in any other situation would be unbelievably hot. Now, though, he was far from being able to appreciate it. “It’s okay, I’ve done nothing wrong—they have nothing on me.”

              “Harry!” cried Ron from the shattered window, bounding over the ledge. He was running to save Harry with a smile—he was alive and well!—but that smile faded to see that state Harry was in. “Harry?”

              Green eyes practically glowed as they flicked to Ron. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Harry raged, voice booming to leave only silence in his wake. His hair stood unnaturally on end, and his feet felt lighter, almost like he might take off from the ground.

              “I—we’re rescuing you!” Ron replied as if it should have been obvious. “Hermione and I tracked the two-way mirror’s magical signature in your shoebox and it led right here. We know Malfoy’s been holding you, and, and—“ Ron looked to the romantic dining room set-up with some disbelief. “Making you cook?”

              Harry was so furious it became hard to speak. “You—you _idiot_!”

              “Imperius curse, sir,” said another Auror to Ron.

              “Watch your tongue,” Draco snapped from his place on the floor, the two Aurors grabbing his arms again. He didn’t struggle, but looked absolutely disgusted. “You really think Harry fucking Potter could fall for an Imperius so easily? He’s got more magic in his thumb than all of you combined.”

              “You have an Imperius on your record, Malfoy,” snarled the Auror holding his left arm, twisting it slightly. Draco braced his face to be stony and not show the pain.

              “Let him go! Now! I am not under any curse, I’m here of my own free will!” Harry roared at Ron, who was now standing in stunned silence. This sure sounded like Harry, but could it really be him saying these things? “Make them let him go!”

              Ron blinked and turned to Malfoy with the two officers clearly trying to sprain something of his. “Put him down. Only get him if he runs,” Ron allowed cautiously.

              Clearly displeased, both Aurors let go with a push to make sure Draco would fall flat on his chest. He failed to catch himself on his hands and did just that, growling with some anger as he reached back to rub the shoulder the left Auror had been twisting. “I’m not an idiot, either. I know I can’t run from the Ministry,” Draco huffed and stood up, brushing himself off to try and regain some dignity.

              “Damn right you can’t,” muttered one Auror in the back.

              “And so I’m not trying to!” Draco turned around and directed right at the speaker, met with grumbles back. “You people get off on harassing me, but believe me, I’m far from consenting.”

              Ron looked between Draco and Harry, then to the table of spaghetti dinner, then back at the men. “What exactly is going on here?” Ron asked, Auror voice stern.

              “You don’t get to ask that question!” Harry flipped. He let out a horrible growl, finally putting away his wand only when he saw Draco standing and safe. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Ron? Have you lost your mind? Do you even have a warrant?”

              “I do! On the basis of suspected kidnapping!” Ron replied and waved a piece of parchment about. “Harry, do you seriously mean to tell me you’re here because you _want_ to be? In _this_ place?”

              Harry let out a frustrated noise that shook the very foundations of the room with magical energy. “Ron, I am a grown man, and I can go wherever I want and do whatever I want with whoever I so choose!”

              “In the place one of your best friends was tortured while we were held in the basement? What, does the new paint of coat cancel out the worst memory of my _life_?” Ron demanded.

              Harry gritted his teeth. “That wasn’t Draco.”

              “Aunt Bella was demented,” Draco spoke directly to Ron this time. What happened to Hermione was wrong, but it also wasn’t even close to the worst thing that Bellatrix Lestrange had done. “I didn’t want her to.”

              “Oh, and you sure did a whole lot to stop it,” Ron recalled bitterly before turning back to Harry. “You weren’t answering our Patronus messages, Harry, and your shoebox was gone! Fuck, you have no idea how _worried_ Hermione was.”

              “Patronus messages?” Draco questioned but got no explanation from anyone around him. He couldn’t cast one in the first place, let alone use it to send a message, so he’d likely warded against the incoming magic and that was why Harry didn’t receive them.

              “Oh,” Harry said, throwing his hands in the air. “Well, yes, let’s burst into an innocent man’s house and break his window because Hermione was _worried_! That’s just bloody perfect, Ron.”

              “What were we supposed to think: Oh, Harry’s just gone on a wee holiday with Draco fucking Malfoy, school bully extraordinaire?” Ron demanded.

              “I don’t care what you think!” Harry snapped back. “Or what you worry about!”

              “Clearly, Harry! You’re being so self-destructive right now! And for what?” Ron shook his head. “You have no idea what went through our minds, Harry, when we saw that box missing. Everything you care about in this world, gone, like you’d taken it to—to… you know.”

              “No, Ron, I don’t know! Please, please tell me what the hell had your britches in such a twist you called the whole entire department here! Hello, everyone! Just me, Crazy Potter.” He waved maniacally at the room of now deeply-concerned looking officers. Draco winced. Poor Harry didn’t deal well with stress, let alone surprise attacks.

              “We thought you’d taken it to kill yourself!” Ron yelled back, voice cracking under the pressure.

              That gave Harry pause. He could feel the pain in Ron’s voice, the tone of utter and complete despair to think of a world where Harry was gone. It made Harry want to be kinder to him but he was just so damn _mad._

              Mad that Ron was right, mad that Ron was even here, it all was a massive swirling ball of rage inside the cage of his mouth. Sickly, Harry let out a little laugh. “I might’ve in a few years,” Harry admitted quietly. “Maybe even in a few months, if things kept up the way they were. Tired all the time, sad all the time, I can’t stop pulling out my hair like some kind of freak, and on top of everything I knew I was worrying you, making your life harder!”

              Ron’s face went red as a tomato holding back tears of embarrassment and relief in front of what was indeed almost the entire Auror department he’d called in for this. “Harry—“ he said, voice cracking and the sentence dying in his mouth.

              “But I’m not,” Harry said, resolute. “I’m not killing myself, Ron. I don’t think I quite want to anymore, and that’s not because I’m magically better—“ Harry looked to Draco, breath catching in his throat. “It’s because I got my rut—I got pulled out, really.” He looked down at Draco’s feet with a little laugh.

              Draco could hardly believe what he was hearing. He’d known Harry was depressed and suffering from his PTSD, but suicidal ideation was never mentioned. It worried him so much he feared he might throw up in front of everyone, so sickened by the idea that Harry might hurt himself that his body was having a visceral physical reaction.

              “You cannot seriously mean to tell me that you found the meaning of living life and it’s for Draco Malfoy?” Ron demanded in a softer but urgent tone.

              “I’m not living for him!” Harry shook his head. “He didn’t, I dunno, save me or anything as cliché as that. He’s helping me, helping me see why I shouldn’t live for anyone but myself. To pursue my actual desires. I’m living for me now, Ron, and I’m living here.”

              “Harry—!”

              “I want you,” Harry said with his last modicum of calm. “To leave. I want all of you to leave. Hello, no kidnapping, get out of our house.” The room of Aurors, having heard this entire fight and not knowing what to say or do, looked to Ron.

              ‘Our house’. Ron and Draco both could have cried for entirely different reasons upon hearing those words. Both men held back sniffles that went thankfully unnoticed by the crowd.

              “If you want to talk,” Harry said slowly to Ron. “You can send an owl here and we’ll schedule something like normal people. But tonight—you need to leave. Draco has work in the morning, and I have things to get done, too.”

              Ron, flabbergasted in every sense of the word, let out a breath. “Harry, you just told me you’ve considered suicide, how am I supposed to leave you here? I’m—I’m supposed to be your best friend! You’re supposed to tell me things! I—I can’t believe…”

              The look on Ron’s face, lost and dejected, squeezed Harry’s heart in his chest to the point of physical pain. “I’m not in any danger, Ron. Not from me or anyone else—not right now, anyway. What? Stop looking at me like that—Draco’s a Healer.”

              “Right, and you’re here on patient business,” Ron said edgily, eyeing the dinner plates. He took a deep breath and let out a beleaguered sigh. “Squads one and two, fall back. Three and four, you too. Squad five, I don’t know which one of you fired but the Auror Department now owes Malfoy a window.”

              “Please,” Draco said and put his hand up imperiously. “You can’t afford what I want. I’ll just repair it and forget this… intrusion ever happened. So long as you do as Harry wishes.” Draco cast ‘Reparo’ and the window came back together with Draco’s expert skills in mending spells.

              Ron had almost forgotten how powerful Malfoy was, too. Or apparently it was ‘Draco’ now. The first-name basis these two were on was throwing Ron way off of his game. “That’s, er, generous. I have to extend a formal apology.”

              “Oh, I know you wouldn’t be apologizing to the likes of me if you didn’t have to, trust me,” Draco snarked. “Can you leave now?” He stood at Harry’s side, unsure if he wanted to be touched but desperately wanting to touch him.

              “Fall back,” Ron ordered again, eyes pained and lingering on Harry.

              “You heard the man,” said another Auror. “Fall back!”

              With some grumbles the twenty-or-so officers made their way out the front door, avoiding the shattered window with some guilt in their eyes. Draco glared at all of them to the very last, leaving only Ron, Harry, and Draco in the dining room.

              “Harry,” Ron tried once the rest of the Aurors were gone.

              “No,” Harry snapped. “No, we are not talking like friends until you invite me into a conversation like friends. I don’t know why the Patronus messages didn’t come through—“

              “That’d be my wards,” Draco admitted. “I can alter them if you wish.”

              “Oh,” Harry said. “ _Oh_.” Could Draco not cast a corporeal Patronus?

              “Owls will be just fine,” Ron sighed. “Now that I actually know where you are…”

              “And this is where I’ll be,” Harry reinforced. “I live here now.” He reached out for Draco’s hand and Draco took it immediately. “And you don’t get to judge me because you just interrupted a really nice dinner, Ron. Seriously, what would you do if I burst through your front window while you were trying to romance Hermione?”

              “And that’s what you’re doing here,” Ron clarified, disbelieving. “Romancing.”

              “I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “He’s better with the fancy stuff than I am. How was I doing?” Harry asked Draco.

              Draco laughed brightly, though not as bright as he could have. “Pretty well, I’ll say,” he said and squeezed Harry’s hand. “But Harry, we absolutely have to talk about—“

              “I know, and we will. Just as soon as Ron leaves.” Harry leveled his gaze at Ron and cocked an expectant brow.

              Ron shook his head. “This is not what I meant when you said you should meet some men. You’re barking for this one, mate. Absolutely mad.”

              “Yeah,” Harry agreed. “But at least now I’m happy. I’ll talk to you later, Ron. Please.”

              “I’m telling Hermione about all of this,” Ron warned. “She’ll be happy to know you’re okay, but I don’t know how to explain _this_.” He motioned to Draco and Harry’s clasped hands.

              “Then you don’t have to, I’ll explain to you both later. But Ron, I really, really need you to leave.” With his free hand Harry searched for thick hair on his head and pulled it out to some relief.

              Ron let out a big sigh. “Okay, Harry. Have it your way. I’ll send a bloody owl. Merlin’s arse. Next time you shack up with a War Criminal why not just give one of your best mates a shout, hm? That’s all it would have taken to know you were okay. I panicked, alright?”

              “I’ll sure say,” Harry deadpanned.

              “It’s because I give a shit you know,” Ron countered.

              “I know, Ron. I know.”

              “Okay then. Well. I’ll be owling you, then. Have a… night.” Ron turned and walked towards the front door, Draco and Harry following behind to shut it. Draco watched out of the peep-hole until the Aurors had all filed out the front gates, the redhead last, and let out a breath when he felt the wards restore from whatever blocking agent the Auror department had used. Bloody fascists. Draco ought to know.

              “Are you hurt?” Harry asked immediately once they were alone.

              “Harry,” Draco said, more pressing issues on the mind than a little police brutality. “Harry—“ Draco threw his arms around him. “Harry, I had no idea that was how deeply you were hurting. I’m so sorry.”

              “Hardly your fault,” Harry sniffled, wiping his eyes on the other side of the hug. “I don’t think I even wanted to admit to myself how futile I thought everything was until someone I was avoiding called me out on it.”

              “You were right, I can’t make you magically better, as much as that kills me to say,” Draco pressed. “I want to get in contact with your therapist, see if we can get you a psychiatrist. I want to do daily check-ins; I need to know how you’re doing every single day.”

              Harry nodded, having resolved long ago to go on with whatever kind of treatment Draco recommended once his true thoughts on the matter of his life came to light. That, and he’d suspected Draco was going to contact her anyway about the hair pulling. They’d talked about getting it under control during his training, and it had been mortifying, so he’d been sparing Harry a little while.

              “And I want to meet with your therapist, maybe go as a couple?”

              Harry nodded again, eyelids heavier than before. He pulled away from the hug to wipe his eyes more dedicatedly. “Yeah, we can do that.”

              “Good.” Draco nodded, putting his hands back at his side through bleary eyes. “Good.” Before he knew it he was hugging Harry again, the two holding one another tight. “I am so, so glad you are alive.”

              “Yeah,” Harry said, cracking his first smile since the Aurors left. “Me too.”

*** *** ***

              The talk had lasted long into the night, the plan of what Harry and Draco were going to do moving forward. Before Harry even realized it the clock on the wall read midnight.

              “Draco,” he said gently. “You need to go to bed. You have work in the morning.”

              “I could stay here another few days,” Draco offered for the hundredth time. “Like last week.” When everything had been happy and safe and secret.

              Harry shook his head. “No, I want you to go to work like you would normally. I’ll be fine here building the greenhouse and attending psychiatry sessions starting tomorrow. You need rest to save all those lives and whatnot, so come on.” He tugged on Draco’s sleeve.

              Draco laughed a bit bitterly. “Not sure I can rest after all of that.” They were sitting in a parlor now but the draft of the busted-in window carried even this far. “My mind is racing…”

              A long moment passed between them before Harry was struck with an idea. “Daddy?” Harry said in his quietest, most saccharine voice. “Is there anything I can do to help with that?”

              After everything they’d just been through, Harry Potter seducing him was not how Draco thought this night would end. He didn’t dare look this gift horse in the mouth, though, not when his mind really was going a thousand miles a minute to think about how h might have lost Harry before he even had him.

              “Now, there is something,” Draco imagined up, taking Harry’s hands. “I think you can help Daddy with. Would you like to come up to my bedroom?”

              “Yes, please.”

              Draco stood and Harry followed, leaving one hand each entangled with the other’s as they ascended the staircase to the third floor, Draco looking back over his shoulder frequently to catch Harry smiling.

              Once the doors were shut behind them there was no keeping them from one another. Draco kissed Harry silly, hands moving all over that cotton shirt of his until he found the tie for his apron in the back. Draco quickly undid the knot, letting the strands fall.

              “And up,” Draco spoke against Harry’s lips. He raised his arms and felt Draco tug the apron and shirt off of him at once. The rush of fabric upwards created enough friction to have Harry’s nipples hard right after being exposed. “Good boy.”

              Harry kissed all around Draco’s mouth and back onto it, lips meeting in hard smacks.

              “Mmm, so I have this trick,” Draco began as his thumbs tweaked Harry’s nipples. “It always gets me right to sleep after. But I’ll need you hard and on your back, because I’m going to ride you until I’ve had my fill.”

              “Sounds like one hell of a trick.”

              “That you are, my sweet,” Draco teased, earning a laugh from Harry between their kisses. “Come along with me.” He took Harry’s hand once more to lead him towards the bed, sitting him down and climbing onto his lap.

              Sure, Harry was short, but that wasn’t about to stop Draco from climbing him like a tree.

              This would be the first time he was allowed to be inside of Draco, and the thought alone excited Harry so much he was almost shaking under Draco’s molten kisses.

              Draco’s velvet tongue was hotter than ever swirling over Harry’s lips, slipping between them when Harry sighed. Harry’s tongue slid alongside Draco’s to taste him, the flavor of Draco now quite familiar to Harry.

              On top of him Draco swirled his hips, too, grinding his hips down on him in his Healer-white trousers. Shocks went up Harry’s spine, a current lighting up each time their groins rubbed together. Draco’s hands gripped him tighter and tighter still as they scaled up Harry’s back, tugging on the back of Harry’s shirt until he could pull the garment up over his head.

              “So beautiful,” Harry marveled in the gap where their lips weren’t fused together before they reunited again. Draco made a content noise into their kiss, pulling Harry’s hands up to help him unbutton his shirt from the top while he did so from the bottom. They met in the middle and Harry pushed the shirt from his fine marble shoulders.

              Draco, sucker for flattery as he was, absolutely melted to hear Harry whispering his praises between kisses. “Yeah, you think so?” he prompted for more.

              “Your hair,” Harry started, one hand running up the back of his neck to grab a fistful of platinum locks. “Is beautiful, and when you style it like you do I love it, but I love messing it up more.” Harry ruffled the usually-coifed crop of blonde hair and chuckled when Draco narrowed his eyes.

              “Ruffian,” Draco accused.

              “And your voice,” Harry said, trailing his hand down to gently hold Draco’s neck where it vibrated when he spoke in the hollow of his throat. “Is so adorably posh, and when I hear it I feel this wave of calm. And when we’re together, when I hear you come, it’s the greatest sound in the world.”

              Draco’s neck was getting pink under Harry’s hand from all this praise.

              “Your skin is so, so soft,” Harry spoke lower this time. He moved his hand down Draco’s chest, touch reverent over old scars. “And now mine is thanks to your brews and instructions. You’re so smart, Draco.”

              Now that went right to Draco’s head. He smiled down at Harry and pushed his hands up under his shirt so he could rid him of it. “Yeah, I am,” he replied cockily. “But you, you’re brave. You looked like you were going to take on all those Aurors at once, no wand or incantations needed to sling your spells. Fuck, that was hot.”

              Harry chuckled, moving to undo Draco’s trouser clasp and unzip him all the way down. “Only you could find that hot.”

              “Deeply untrue. Magic as powerful as that was—and you weren’t even trying—any wizard in his right mind would be hard as a damn rock.” Draco got his trousers off as fast as he possibly could thinking about that radiating aura, that pure, raw power.

              “Like you are?” Harry asked innocently, pressing his palm to Draco’s erection through his grey pants.

              Draco snickered and started on Harry’s trousers next, finding him similarly disposed. “Cheeky,” he accused, sliding them down and off his legs. He gave Harry’s arse cheek a clap through his red panties because he could, getting a satisfying squeak out of him. “Now take off my pants and open me up already.”

              “Impatient,” Harry observed, doing as he was told and tugging off Draco’s pants along with wriggling out of his own with Draco’s attentive help. “Aren’t we, Draco?”

              “You ought to know that by now,” Draco retorted, reaching for the vial of lube on the bedside table. “But it has been… awhile, for me.”

              “Hey,” said Harry. “I’ll be gentle.”

              “Not too gentle, I hope.”

              “Right, of course.”

              Draco passed Harry the vial of lubricant and Draco’s fingers lingered on his.

              “Okay,” Harry said more to himself than to Draco, covering his index finger in lubricant. “Okay…” Harry lined his finger up with Draco’s hole to watch it pulse from the lightest of taps. Harry moved his fingertip around the puckered skin nice and slow, dedicated to easing him into this.

              A full-body shiver overtook Draco to be touched in such an intimate way and a tender way to boot—Harry was being a proper gentleman and barely pressing against him at all. Draco changed that with a firm push down of his own hips, urging Harry on. “Don’t be such a tease, Potter.”

              “Back to last names, are we, Malfoy?” Harry replied, taking the hint and pressing the first joint of his finger in. Harry pushed up from there, sinking in slowly until the finger disappeared up to his knuckle.

              Draco cried out sharply, his hand covering the hand Harry had on his hip.

              “Fucking hell,” Harry breathed at how tight Draco felt. “It has been awhile for you. We shouldn’t let you go unstretched so long again.”

              “Already planning our next round?” Draco asked airily, breathing thinner with Harry’s intrusion pressing deep, searching within him. “Bit premature.”

              “I’m not quite done with this round, and you know I’m never premature,” Harry reminded Draco and curled his finger to watch Draco’s eyes roll back into his head. “I’m your good boy, Daddy.”

              “Yes,” Draco hissed. “Oh, yes you are. Right there, a little to the— _oh_ , that’s it.”

              “Here?” Harry asked innocently, rubbing his fingertip against the spot that made Draco’s pale eyelashes flutter so prettily

              Draco nodded, cockiness fading when he was so utterly at Harry’s mercy. “Yeah,” was all he could reply, struggling through a nod.

              “Good.” Harry curled and uncurled his finger inside of Draco again and again, pushing his walls out wider until he could feel there was room for more. From there Harry pushed in his second finger, this one a far tighter fit.

              A gasp left Draco, body trembling around Harry with a twinge of pain he couldn’t and didn’t want to ignore—the pain was a part of this, too.

              Harry’s breathing was shallow to watch his two fingers disappear inside of Draco over and over, each time pushing wider and deeper to work him open. Draco had begun to circle his hips, groaning softly with each time they came around to press down on Harry’s digits.

              The groans only served to make Harry harder, make him want Draco all the more.

              “Harry,” Draco called out to him, voice breathy.

              “You want more, hm?” Harry spread lubricant on his ring finger before it too joined the two already inside of Draco, the burn of the stretch palpable around his fingers. “How’s that?”

              “Yes,” Draco hissed, sounding almost like a Parselmouth. Harry wondered briefly how Draco might react if he started to speak in Parseltongue, a vestige left over from the Horcrux, but decided against it when he saw how peaceful Draco looked on top of him. No need to make him think of that duel Harry turned his snake away in.

              Right now the only snake Harry was thinking about was the one between Draco’s legs. His fat, pink cockhead was twitching slightly as Harry rooted out the core of his pleasure inside of him, three fingers flexing open.

              “I’m ready,” Draco said in a voice firmer than before.

              Harry cracked a big grin—he was ready, too.

              His prick was practically jumping at the thought of being where his fingers were now, so warm and slick, and he eagerly coated himself in the oil from the vial to make sure it would slide in without too much strain on Draco.

              “Here,” Harry positioned him, beckoning him forward with the fingers inside of him. “Just like that.” He eased them out and Draco made a small noise at how he missed them. He was wide open now, and Harry wasted no time nudging his cockhead against the gaping hole. “Fuck, you look so good.”

              “Take me,” Draco whispered.

              So Harry took him. He pushed himself in and found nirvana in Draco Malfoy’s arsehole. Stranger things had happened to him, after all. The world had magic and wizards who went to work in toilets, Harry had died and come back to life, and now he was making love to the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life.

              Draco moaned with his whole throat. “Oh, Harry—that’s my _big_ boy.”

              Harry squeezed Draco’s hips, fully sheathed inside of him as Draco covered his hands with his own, their fingers intertwining.

              “Bloody fuck,” Draco swore, the burn creeping up his back. He clenched tight around Harry with a shiver of his whole body.

              “You okay?”

              “Much better than okay.” Draco shuddered. He started to move his hips again on Harry, rocking back to take him in all the way each time. “Move with me.”

              Harry nodded, his glasses heating up but he never wanted to take them off because looking up at Draco was such a gift. Harry rocked his hips up against Draco, a gentle motion at first.

              Little gasps fell from Draco’s lips, noises of surprise and delight as Harry moved like a wave beneath him. “Yes,” he whispered as Harry’s cockhead ground deep. “Yes.”

              Throbbing within him Harry couldn’t help but speed up to reach more of that delicious friction, rolls of his hips getting faster and faster. “You feel so good,” Harry marveled up at Draco, the soft slap of their skin coming together again and again.

              “Harry,” Draco groaned, putting his full effort into the first syllable of his name so he could chant it. “Harry, Harry, Harry—“

              Harry thrust up faster, harder, bouncing Draco on his lap. “Draco,” Harry replied, voice climbing in volume. Draco was giving as good as he got, driving Harry absolutely up the wall.

              Draco rode him hard, rode him rough and downright dirty once he got into it. He cried out and held tight to the hands on his hips, head tipping back to expose his bare throat. “Yes, Harry!”

              “Draco, oh, oh…” Harry stretched out the last syllable of Draco’s name in return for the heavenly way that Draco said his as their bodies collided. Harry wanted to see more, hear more of those moans, so he freed a hand from Draco’s to wrap it around his dripping cock.

              “Harry!” Draco choked out. He hadn’t expected the strokes in tandem with Harry’s thrusts and the surprise of it all brought a tear to his silver eye. “Oh, fuck, I’m not gonna last, I—“

              “Then don’t last,” Harry urged, pulsing up in his thrusts with such effort that sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

              “Fuck, Harry!” Draco’s toes curled under and his eyes screwed shut in a moment of complete tightness in his body, clenching hard around Harry before the release came to him gut-first. An explosion of heat followed by a burst of white overtook him, leaving him to shake and shudder out the last of his release over Harry’s chest who welcomed it with open arms.

              Harry lasted only a few more thrusts in before he too was brought into the undertow of a little death that felt ripped right out of his core. Harry’s sight was blurry beyond his fogged glasses for a moment, the whole world out of focus. “Draco…”

              Harry’s last moan of his name was met with a racked wheeze from Draco, slumping onto Harry and not caring if he got in his own mess. “Harry,” he rasped, that adorably posh voice utterly wrecked.

              The two clung tight to each other as Draco pulled off of Harry with a whimper, gratefully accepting the spot at his side where Harry seemed content to cuddle him.

              With a lazy wipe of his chest clean from a conveniently-placed towel on his nightstand—Draco’s foresight was uncanny—Harry invited Draco to rest his head on his chest. In reality Draco rested his entire self on Harry’s chest, climbing atop him without a care if he was crushing him. With some adjustment from Harry he no longer was crushing him, and the two could pant together for a moment as they came down.

              “Wow,” was all Harry could say when he finally had the breath to say something.

              Draco chuckled. “Yeah, ‘wow’.” He kissed Harry’s neck. “We ought to do that more often.”

              “You’re telling me,” Harry laughed in return, having wanted this for a while now. He’d just been too nervous to ask for it, not believing himself worthy of such a reward. “Are you feeling okay? Did it hurt too much?”

              “I’m feeling bloody fantastic, Harry. I’m fine, and so glad to be here with you. Will you stay the night with me?” Draco requested.

              “Draco, I want to spend every night with you,” Harry told him seriously.

              Draco took it as pillowtalk and smiled anyway. There was no way he could really mean that. “My bed is always open to you.”

              Harry wanted it to be ‘our bed’, but maybe that was asking too much. That wasn’t really the arrangement, right? “Good,” Harry said anyway, taking off his glasses now that Draco was close enough to see clearly. “Because I’m here to stay.”

              A happy hum left Draco’s throat with Harry’s come leaking out of his hole. “Give me ten more minutes of snuggles and then we can shower,” he decided.

              “Yes, sir,” Harry replied seriously as if snuggling was a grave commitment. He nuzzled their cheeks together. “Ten minutes on the clock. There’s a lot to be done with timers, I’m told.”

              “You cheeky boy.” Draco kissed his cheek. “But how can I blame you when you’re learning from the best?” He kissed his other cheek. “So give me ten, and we can talk about that round two.”

              Harry would do just that because he’d died and come back to life once, and now it felt like twice. So Harry smiled and held him tight, feeling the best and most gleefully alive he had in a long, long time.


	10. Good To Him, Good For Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Jenna who somehow reads this for the plot? Bless her heart. Thanks for letting me steal your recipes for gay wizard smut, you’re the best!

**Chapter 10: Good To Him, Good For Him**

                            The second morning of Draco going to work was as hard as the first.

              “And I’ll be back at six like yesterday, except nothing at all like yesterday,” Draco reassured Harry again with thumbs rubbing his upper arms, still naked and bare while Draco stood fully clothed in his Healer robes.

              “Okay. I’ll see you then,” said Harry through pouted, puffed-up lips from how he’d woken Draco up with his mouth. “Goodbye, Daddy.”

              Their goodbye kiss lasted as long as Harry could cling to Draco without hurting him. “Goodbye, sweetling.”

              When Draco was gone Harry was left to mope in bed for a customary hour. He would have went right to working on the greenhouse again, but there was something he needed to tend to first inside beyond wilting without Draco.

              It was a tawny barn owl that came with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger’s co-signed letter of request Harry was avoiding addressing. After a few more precious minutes in bed he gave in thinking of the owl’s comfort. It had done well, and deserved to be relieved of duty.

              “There you go,” Harry murmured and slipped the owl a conjured treat, taking the parchment from where it was bound to its claw before sending it on its way. “Thank you,” he called after, watching it flap its wings and fly off.

              He sealed the window shut and tried not to think of how the Aurors had shattered the downstairs window. He reached for his hair, searching for a thick, warped strand and found a big one to pull. “Ow,” Harry murmured to himself and shook his head, forcing both hands onto the parchment and unfolding the letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_First and foremost we are glad you’re healthy and unharmed. Before anything else as your friends we want your safety and your happiness. We are concerned with the way you described your current situation and wish to speak in person as soon as possible. We respect your request for a letter first, and Ron would have never authorized the Auror raid if he knew you were there willingly, which we’re still honestly quite confused about._

_The Auror who broke the window has been reprimanded, and the rest have been sworn to secrecy on the matter lest it be on their jobs. We know how important privacy is to you, and we’re sorry we put you in a situation where your sexual orientation might be revealed to a cruel public._

_But really—Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? Please talk to us about it, please make us understand because right now we really, really don’t. We’re worried, and confused, and want what’s best for you._

_Please respond quickly with when you can meet up with us._

_Love always,_

_Ron and Hermione, your friends who care._

              Harry winced with guilt. It was in Hermione’s handwriting but he could tell where Ron had insisted she put certain parts in. They were trying to be a united front here for Harry, though, and Harry had to meet that front head-on if he ever wanted his family to understand what he was doing with his life.

              Hermione hadn’t even been at the raid and had gotten all of this secondhand, a fact that Harry was even more disturbed by than Ron and the other Aurors being potential information leaks. Hermione was going to be pissed, that was undeniable, and Harry feared that like any sane wizard who’d heard her name before.

              He feared losing her even more, though, so he would start drafting his reply posthaste.

              Draco’s desk was perfect for letter-writing, and it made Harry think of how ‘D’ must have written his replies here in those precious early days that weren’t so far off.

_Dear Ron and Hermione,_

              Harry paused to bite his lip. It felt strange being so formal with the two people who’d risked life and limb for him on at least once an occasion per year at Hogwarts.

_I first want to say I’m sorry for scaring you. I know it couldn’t have been easy to watch how I treated myself these past years. If it’s any consolation, it wasn’t any easier being the one living it._

_I know what I’ve done seems strange, seems insane, really, but it’s the sanest thing I’ve done in years to move in with Draco Malfoy._

_The rest on why that is I can tell you in person. It’s complicated, and I’m going out on a limb asking you don’t judge me too harshly. I was going to tell you eventually, but my fear was being judged by not only you but everyone else in my life. I couldn’t take that shame on top of the shame I already feel._

Harry paused to wipe his eyes.

_Draco and I have decided it’s best if I see my therapist and a psychiatrist regularly, so you don’t need to worry there. Everything is being taken care of. Meet me at my flat for lunch? I can’t trust going in public right now._

_Love always,_

_Harry Potter, your friend who’s damn lucky you’ve always cared._

              Harry carried his letter down to the owl coop of the Manor and attached it to the claw of a judgmental-looking black beast. Its yellow eyes pierced Harry’s calm, and left him feeling uneasy long after the letter was sent on its way.

              He expected a reply soon, and would need to dress for the occasion.

              A crisp lavender button-down out of the closet Draco had stocked for him and black pants and trousers to go with them, finely pressed. The black shoes were shining bright under the polish Draco had taken them for, and with a vest added in a spiffing outfit was made.

              Harry combed his hair and worked in the light amount of styling product like Draco had shown him, shaving his face bare and cleaning off his glasses to complete the transformation. He’d done just as Draco instructed, and he really liked how he looked. Putting effort forth into his appearance brought him a reward beyond pleasing Daddy—he was finally pleasing himself.

              Well, technically he wasn’t allowed to ‘please himself’ anymore in saving his orgasms for the one man who mattered, but even that was exciting in itself. Harry could usually spend multiple days in a row lazily masturbating to vague thoughts of Dominant men, lulling himself into his own bored, undersexed haze.

              Harry did sometimes feel the rebellious urge to masturbate in secret, but it would doubtlessly come out in the heat of the moment and Harry would expose himself. It wasn’t worth the punishments that would follow, the less-fun ones that he got when he broke serious rules.

              After one last satisfied look in the mirror Harry went down to the kitchen and grabbed the pink apron. Next he opened the cupboards and refrigerators up to scan the ingredients. Once he’d made all his choices Harry piled in the supplies, the cookbook, and set towards the fireplace triumphant.

*** *** ***

              “And we have to reassure him that the Aurors involved have been sworn to secrecy as part of their job performance,” Hermione went on. “I can’t imagine how Harry’s paranoia is faring with that many people having seen what you described to me.”

              Ron fidgeted with his wand in his pocket at they walked up to the next floor of Harry’s flat building. “I thought we’d need them all to fight off Malfoy. He was second-in-class to you, Hermione, and you’re the brightest witch of our bloody age. Malfoy is capable of terrible things, as he showed us with Madam Rosmerta.”

              “I’m scared for Harry, too,” Hermione responded to the unspoken emotional sentiment of Ron’s tone. She paused on the landing to his floor to take a deep breath of preparation. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

              “I love you,” Ron reminded her and extended his hand.

              “I love you too.” Hermione took the hand and led Ron to Harry’s door.

              Hermione knocked twice before backing up and releasing Ron’s hand.

              Harry answered the door and Hermione had to stop herself from doing a double-take. Harry looked fantastic, and so alive that Hermione almost teared up. He had that nervous look in his eyes but the corner of his lips were up. Was he wearing chapstick?

              “Hey, Hermione, Ron,” Harry greeted them and stepped back to invite them into the flat.

              The first thing Ron noticed was the smell. The air was rich with the smell of seared and spiced meat, and was nothing like the stagnant staleness Ron had come to know here. The décor was the same, but cleaner, more organized. Ron wondered if Harry had actually cleaned it this time instead of shoving the mess in his bedroom, so he took a sidelong peek through that door to see a well-made bed. Damn. “Hey. You… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in those clothes before.”

              Harry closed the front door behind them, locking it for his paranoia about possible press listening in. Once that lock clicked he’d charmed the whole flat with a silencing spell from the inside-out. “I know it’s a bit flashy,” Harry admitted sheepishly, untying the pink apron from around himself and sliding it off. “But hey, you got here just in time. The Picadillo is ready to serve.”

              “The what?” Ron asked.

              “It’s mostly beef and vegetables with olives and raisins. They’re pretty damn good in the mix, surprisingly,” Harry enthused. He’d much rather talk about the food Draco had taught him how to make and not the other stuff they got up to. “I made three bowls of rice, you can scoop in however much of the mix you like,” he went on, pointing to them and the serving spoon.

              Hermione looked to her partner in life and love to see if he was seeing this too, this new Harry. Maybe a charm _was_ at work here. Ron looked just as confused, if not more.

              “You really cleaned the place up since I last saw it,” Hermione tried as her next step forward in this bizarrely spotless world she’d stumbled into.

              “Yeah, it needed a deep clean. But, um,” Harry took up his bowl of rice and started scooping in heaps of the meat. “I’m not really living here anymore, like I said.”

              Hermione so wished she’d been at that raid. Was he acting like this then? Should they get a Healer? Her severely-depressed best friend was chipperly anxious. What was going on here? It was her turn to do strategy after Ron’s plan blew up in everyone’s face, so she felt she should address that first.

              “Right,” Hermione started slowly. She was drifting towards the food because it smelled incredible, and she hadn’t seen Harry really cook for himself in a long time because he rarely even wanted to eat. “So.”

              “Before we start can you please just try this?” Harry asked of her, the calm breaking slightly. “Let’s just eat together, okay?”

              “Okay,” Ron accepted quickly, led by his nose to his bowl as he began helping himself to the Peccadillo.

              “Okay,” Hermione echoed, only a bit annoyed.

              When they were all sitting at Harry’s kitchen table Hermione started again.

              “Ron is, and I am, sorry for the way the incident at Malfoy Manor turned out,” she began.

              “I am sorry,” Ron nodded, looking properly ashamed.

              “Are the twenty-five other Aurors also sorry?” Harry snarked because he couldn’t help himself.

              “Harry, the Aurors involved in the incident with you and Ron are sworn to secrecy,” she assured him, not yet having touched her meal, eyes fixed on Harry unflinchingly. “You know that.”

              “I also know that Aurors are just wizards who can be gossipy as the next,” Harry mumbled, poking his fork at meat and rice to spear it before bringing it up to his mouth. If his guests wouldn’t eat then more for Harry.

              “Harry, that’s not fair,” Hermione said. “We were worried about you.”

              After Harry took the first bite Ron accepted that as a signal to start, and quite liked the taste from the look on his face. Harry smiled to himself, softening at how easy it was to calm his best friend with food. “I know. I’m sorry I worried you, but did you really have to go and do that? With that many people? You know how I feel about people knowing my private business.”

              “Harry, you said something very serious to Ron during this incident,” Hermione reminded him because she certainly hadn’t forgotten. “And what you said was much more important than any Auror raid or Prophet article. You talked about hurting yourself, Harry.”

              Harry winced to hear Hermione’s voice rise in urgency. “I know. It wasn’t how I wanted to tell you, but it just came out. I forgive you, and I’m sorry, too. Listen, Draco’s been helping—“

              “’Draco’,” Hermione scoffed, reviling at the word. “I can’t believe you call him that.”

              “It is literally his name,” Harry said with exasperation. If only Hermione knew what else Harry called him.

              “Since when is it to you? Harry, how did this even start? What in the world made you go near Malfoy and not just befriend him, but—! Harry, how did this happen!?” So much for keeping her cool, but she felt justified in her frustration.

              Harry Potter wanted to be the kind of man who always told the truth to his friends, but what if the truth was embarrassing and deeply sexual in nature? He would try his best to keep it clean. “Draco and I met,” Harry began. “Through a gay wizarding magazine where you can send messages to other subscribers.” That wasn’t uncommon for enthusiast magazines, and Draco and Harry were certainly enthusiastic when they were together.

              “And you contacted him?” Ron asked in disbelief.

              “He contacted me first, really, but I didn’t know it was him and he didn’t know it was me. It was all anonymous.”

              “Why?” Hermione inquired.

              “Well, you know,” Harry fumbled. “Some gay people like their privacy. Not everyone’s as accepting as we’d want them to be, homophobes all over the globe. Not to mention that I’m me, and mentioning that kills any chance I have of getting to know someone without them seeing me first as ‘The Chosen One’.”

              Hermione frowned but nodded understandingly to that last bit—people were all over Harry whenever he went in public, and plenty of girls had only wanted to be with him because of his status, so blokes likely weren’t the exception.

              “So we talked about our, um, interests, and what we looked like,” Harry went on truthfully. “And one thing led to another and we decided to meet at that bar you told me was nearby, Ron.”

              “Merlin, I’ve caused this,” Ron said grimly between shoveling down bites of his meal.

              “Shut up,” Harry laughed, nudging him under the table. Ron looked leery. “Oh, lighten up while you’re at it, too. Draco and I agreed to meet, and so we did. We were both shocked, completely floored and convinced the other one had set it up somehow, but neither of us had known the other’s identity until that moment. I got to know the real him, and he has changed.”

              “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Hermione countered sharply. “Punching his smug face is still my best memory of Third Year.”

              Harry couldn’t help but snort at the childhood memory. Things had been so much simpler back then. “He was a git in Hogwarts, yes,” Harry nodded. “But he never really wanted to be on Riddle’s side. Riddle was threatening to kill his parents if he didn’t do what he said. He’s put off that wretched purity complex, I promise. We even went on our first date to a muggle tailor and a muggle dessert shop.”

              “And when was that?” Hermione questioned.

              “Right after we met at the bar,” Harry admitted, hoping she wasn’t getting at what he thought she was getting at.

              “And when exactly did you decided to _move in_ with Malfoy?”

              “Um.” Harry put down his fork because he knew this sounded crazy. “After the first date.”

              “What!?” Hermione and Ron demanded in unison.

              “Okay, I know, I know it’s really fast, but—“

              “You moved into the mansion we were held prisoner after _one date_ where he bought you clothes and ice cream?” Hermione asked for her final clarification so she could give her professional Ministry prognosis of the state of this situation.

              Harry nodded, no defense there. It was part of the fetish, living with him, being with him all the time at his beck and call. Harry hated to see Draco go to work because he was happiest in his presence.

              “Harry, that is completely and utterly irresponsible,” Hermione was forced to tell him.

              “I didn’t sell the flat!” Harry defended. “I’ve got this place for life if anything goes wrong I just—I just wanted to be with him!”

              “Ew,” Ron emoted, pausing in his eating to picture it.

              “He took a week off from work and we spent the whole week together,” Harry went on as if Ron had said nothing. “Draco’s a Healer now, you know. St. Mungo’s is lucky to have him.”

              At least his talent was being channeled into something positive, Ron supposed. “And he took off for you, just like that?”

              “Draco doesn’t take many holidays or sick days,” Harry explained. “He had enough days saved up at work.”

              “I don’t understand this,” Hermione said plainly. “At first when I came in here I thought you might be charmed or given a love potion, but I can see that isn’t the case at all. You have none of the signs.” 

              Harry frowned. “I said back at the Manor I wasn’t on anything.”

              “I had to see for myself. I wish I could have been there, Harry, I wish—I wish things had gone differently.”

              “You wish I wasn’t seeing Draco,” Harry nodded understandingly. “But I am, and I will be, for a long time, as long as I can manage it.”

              Hermione shook her head slowly. “So this is serious? More serious than knowing him for a night and moving in—you want this to last? I know you’re an adult who can make your own choices, Harry, so please tell me, what on earth made you choose this?”

              “He takes care of me,” he argued. “He makes me happy, makes me feel safe and secure. Is that so wrong?”

              “No, but it’s Malfoy we’re talking about here. Isn’t he mean to you? Doesn’t he belittle you?”

              “Never,” Harry said flatly. Not unless it was a little degrading name-calling during sex, but Harry explicitly asked for that. “Draco is kind to me, Hermione, without fail. He’s kinder to me than I am to myself.”

              “To be fair, that’s not very hard to do,” Ron pointed out with a full mouth.

              Harry let himself laugh at that one. “I’ll say.”

              “But now that he’s back at work,” Ron said. “What do you plan on doing? Does he just expect you to stay in the house all day? In that house, especially?”

              “It doesn’t work like that,” Harry assured him. “And it’s a completely different house now, Ron. No basement as of yet. We’re working on it together—we’re picking out a fountain for the back gardens this weekend. There’s so much construction and decorating to be done still, so I’m helping with that.”

              “But _why_?” Hermione asked, her question extending far beyond why Harry would want to do house chores for Draco Malfoy. “What on earth do you gain from this?”

              “Everything,” Harry said like it was obvious.

              “Shit,” Ron said as he came to a realization over his Picadillo. “No potion necessary—you’re in bonafide natural love.”

              Both Harry and Hermione almost coughed on their food when he said that.

              “I mean,” Harry said, going bright ted. “I like him a lot, but we haven’t used that word, and, I mean, I don’t want to say it too soon—“

              “But it’s true,” Ron cut in.

              Harry sighed, still not wanting to admit it to himself let alone his best mates who seemed so intent on interrogating him. “I really enjoy spending time with him, okay? Even when he’s at work I’m much better off than I was here, truly alone. There’s things to be done at the Manor, and doing them makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.”

              “Do his parents know?” asked Ron.

              Harry shook his head. “They know he likes blokes but they don’t know he’s with anyone right now. Their confinement to the French estate makes that easy to keep up.”

              “So he won’t tell them about you,” Hermione questioned, clearly not okay with that.

              “Well, not right now, no. But maybe someday, I dunno…”

              “You don’t know?” Hermione pressed.

              “No, I don’t! We haven’t really talked about that. We talked about telling our friends, though, and I _was_ going to tell you soon.” Harry grew weary of this line of questioning. The only people with a worse reaction to this than Ron and Hermione were guaranteed to be Draco’s parents. Harry didn’t want to put his boyfriend, his partner, his Daddy through that kind of pain until he was ready.

              Harry wanted to take care of Draco in return, to bundle him up and hide him away from all the people who spoke ill of him, snuggled up together where nobody could judge them.

              “Draco is a part of my life, and so are you two. If I have to keep those parts separate I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll deal. He’s willing to meet with you, you know.”

              Now that shocked Hermione and Ron. “What, he didn’t turn his nose up at us as always?” Hermione questioned with a challenge to her voice.

              “Or make a crack about my clothes?” Ron added in.

              “Come on, you two!” Harry responded and threw his hands up. “It’s not school anymore! People can change, and he has changed. Haven’t we all changed? Look, when I rejected his friendship that first day at the robes shop it was because he reminded me of Dudley. Now Draco’s my—“ Harry stopped himself. “My boyfriend, and he reminds me of the kind of bloke I always used to dream about being with.”

              “Please, please,” Harry went on, hands clasped. “Trust me on this. Trust me when I say he is good to me and for me.”

              There was a long silence between Ron and Hermione. They exchanged looks that communicated something ineffable to Harry as an outsider of their relationship.

              Ron spoke first to both Harry and Hermione’s surprise. “Do you love him?”

              A chill ran down Harry’s spine. “I, I…” He couldn’t, daren’t finish the sentence and turned Gryffindor red.

              “Sorry,” Ron stopped him. “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot; it’s okay. I think that’s answer enough for me, mate.” A slow smile came to his lips. “Harry, I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

              “We both do,” Hermione nodded. “And if-and-or-when he breaks your heart, know we will always be your best friends. We will always be here for you.”

              “And if Malfoy really wants to meet with us then he’s getting my speech on what will happen if he’s a mongrel to you,” Ron had to add in.

              “And mine. And believe me, I will be seeing if his views are as changed as you say they are,” finished Hermione.

              Harry cracked a big smile. “Yeah, okay, you can do all that,” he agreed on behalf of Draco mostly because he wanted to see how Draco would react, too. “I’ll see when it’s good for him and we could have you by the Manor to eat. I can cook,” Harry reminded them by pointing at the near-empty bowls in front of all of them.

              Hermione shifted in her chair. “Maybe,” she said noncommittally. “Or we could go out to eat.” Being in that house again, on Malfoy’s home turf, that wasn’t happening for a first meeting. “Somewhere indoors and muggle, so no one spots us. I swear I can find somewhere private.”

              “Alright,” Harry shrugged. Even if the press did see them it could just be a meeting between friends and not a date so as to not give Lucius a heart attack in France. “I’ll ask Draco about it.” Harry let out some of the tension in his shoulders. He needed one of Draco’s signature massages, stat.

              “Alright then,” Ron agreed.

              The three picked at their meals until the bowls were practically clean.

              “That was very good, Harry. Thank you for making it,” Hermione said.

              “’Welcome. I think I actually am starting to enjoy cooking again.” Harry put his fork down. “But all this talking about me and I haven’t asked about you. So come on, tell me, what’s up in the lives of the Granger-Weasley’s?”

              Both Hermione and Ron giggled at that. “We’re not that _yet_ ,” Hermione reminded Harry. “The wedding is in three months. Fleur has been a big help getting everything together.” Soon she’d go dress shopping with the bridal party, which also included Harry because of course it did. He was a joint Best Man and couldn’t be happier about it.

              “Mum’s already picked out her dress and hat, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this excited,” Ron enthused. “She would love to see you sometime, Harry.”

              “Maybe I’ll go visit sometime soon,” Harry said and this time it wasn’t an empty promise like the last few times had been. Molly Weasley was an inspirational, badass matriarch who he’d always felt he’d let down by not marrying Ginny, but if she felt that way she sure didn’t act it. Molly was always loving to Harry like a part of the family anyway, and he had to stop being so afraid of seeing her. It wasn’t very Gryffindor-like, even if this wasn’t school anymore.

              And so the three friends talked bridal showers and buffet options into the day, their smiles returned to their faces. They were united first by trauma, from trolls in bathrooms to begging to die with Harry in the Forbidden Forest—he would never forget that, never—but now things could be easier for them, gentler.

              Well, only as gentle as Harry liked, according to Daddy.

              He smiled around his secret, the identity of his lover revealed but not what was between them. It excited him all the more, and when Ron and Hermione left Harry could hardly wait for Draco to get back.

*** *** ***

              “Tonight,” Draco announced as he entered the Manor’s front door as he’d now become accustomed to doing. “I am righting a travesty and an injustice, Harry Potter.”

              Harry, who had been flipping through the recipe book in the kitchen shut it and placed it aside, a mad grin coming to his lips. “Oh, and what would that be?” he questioned on his way to the entrance hall.

              Harry was on Draco before Draco even got a chance to answer. He kissed him with a ferocity unrivaled, a gusto which he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago.

              “And hello to you, too,” Draco replied when they parted for breath, voice lower and silver eyes sparkling. “I figured you would be all about getting justice tonight.”

              “And what exactly are we getting justice for?” Harry asked all nuzzled up to Draco, pretty sure it was a sex thing. Harry was always ready for his Daddy.

              “You,” Draco pointed out with a finger to Harry’s chest. “Have never been to a Spa.”

              That hadn’t exactly been what Harry was imagining. “Oh, like the thing with the cucumbers on your eyes?” Harry recalled from television.

              “Yes, there can be cucumbers, but that’s hardly the extent of it. Worry not, I’ll narrate you through every treatment. We’ll be attending my usual location where my privacy has always been respected. Does that sound okay?”

              “Is it wizarding?”

              “Yes,” Draco replied and hoped that didn’t frighten Harry off. “But I have been going for years and the staff maintain complete discretion for the amount I’m tipping them.”

              Harry’s mouth went scrunched. Greed could be a reliable motivator but the fame and fortune that would come from squealing about Harry Potter’s love life could easily rival it. “Will there be other people there?” Harry asked, slowly coming around each time he glanced at Draco’s pout.

              “Not at all. We will be having a private experience of the highest quality. Trust me, Harry, you’ll be glad you went.” Draco rested his hands on Harry’s hips and gave a reassuring squeeze.

              “I do trust you,” Harry nodded. “Certainly enough to do all those things you love to do to me.”

              “He says as if he isn’t literally begging for it,” Draco narrated, amused.

              Harry couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “What I mean to say is I trust you and not much else, especially not other people.”

              “These are professionals, Harry. You deserve a night of pampering and quite frankly so do I. Do you have any idea how many boils I biopsied today?” Draco challenged, shivering slightly at the memory. “Come on, it will be fun to have our face masks done together.”

              “Alright,” Harry relented with some curiosity as to the matter of face masks. What did they really even do? Draco’s hygiene routine for him was already rigorous, so what else more could he possibly need?

              “Yes!” Draco cheered. “Okay, perfect. You are going to love this, I promise.”

              Seeing Draco get so excited struck a soft spot in Harry. “Sure, alright,” he nodded again.

              “Then follow me—we’re taking the Floo and then we’ll be in relaxation paradise,” Draco assured him, enjoining Harry’s hand in his and leading him towards the fireplace. “The Imperial Spa, Padua, Italy. They also get whatever food you request, any request. I like battered ribs in the sauna, slathered in sauces.”

              “And just how often do you do this?”

              “Oh, around once a month. I’ve gone with Pansy, Blaise, and Theo before, they have memberships as well. I’ll see them this weekend, though.”

              “Speaking of them…”

              “This weekend,” Draco replied resolutely. “I’m going to tell them this weekend over brunch.”

              Harry smiled. “Oh. Okay, that sounds great.” He hadn’t known Draco had been planning on telling them so soon, but he’d hoped for it, and his hopes were seemingly coming true. He wondered how much of the truth they’d be receiving. Hopefully not too much—Harry would be too embarrassed to face them if they knew everything.

              They arrived in front of the fireplace and Harry repeated after Draco’s distinct pronunciation of The Imperial Spa—always remembering the Borgin and Burkes mishap—and thankfully found himself exiting a fireplace behind the blonde man he’d followed after.

              Harry put a hand on Draco’s waist and creeped forward to inspect their surroundings over his shoulder.

              The air smelled of fresh roses and oils Harry couldn’t quite identify, this place was as imperial as it promised to be. There was a sharply-dressed attendant behind a marble counter with the name of the spa carved in gold. Pillars around the room went with the theme of looking like some kind of royal palace with ethereal, charmed fabric floating between the stone columns.

              “Malfoy, for two,” Draco spoke confidently to the attendant. The Malfoys were old money and Draco tipped big, so he was comforted in this familiar spa because there were wizards who would always value reliable, incoming coin over all else. Greed could be so comforting; what a simple sin.

              He watched the attendant carefully to make sure she wouldn’t react to Harry, and she seemed to be doing a decent job of it. Draco slipped her a few galleons across the counter. “Right this way, Sirs,” she nodded and proceeded to think of them as any other spa guests, not the world’s savior and an ex-Death Eater.

              She used her ashen wand to open the door next to her, waving for Draco and Harry to follow.

              Harry, a bit ashamed he’d been hiding behind Draco to conceal his identity, realized it didn’t matter to whoever this witch was as long as Draco kept those coins coming. Money was so strange. Harry wondered if he should be taking notes from Draco on how to use it. More than that, though, he wondered why he’d been concerned in the first place. If there was only one witch who knew about this, there was no way The Prophet would believe her, right?

              Harry slunk out from behind Draco and took the arm offered to him.

              “Please,” she spoke almost eerily calmly as she led them down a long, dimly-lit hall that had the scent of incense wafting through it. The motif of the columns followed them down the hall, and there were several massive paintings of flowers between them. A twinkling piano theme played softly enough as to not be obtrusive. Harry smiled to himself.

              “If you have any requests for songs, treatments, food, or drinks, do not hesitate to ask,” she continued, turning a corner where a bubbling fountain stood. “And here we are, Sirs, your changing room.”

              Double-doors led to the softest, cleanest locker room Harry had ever seen in his life. Cleaning the Gryffindor ones had been a particular pain of his time at Hogwarts and they’d never looked even halfway as nice as this. The floor was plush red carpet, and the lockers were at least two men wide.

              “If you would please remove all clothing and don a complimentary Imperial bathrobe, then the jacuzzi and steam room is right through you next door.”

              “Excellent,” Draco said, taking to being served like a fish to water, unsurprisingly. He proceeded to order his usual. “Have ice water and white wine waiting for us—a Riesling, no less than fifty years old, chilled. A cheese plate and the ribs for the both of us, as well. Come along, Harry, let’s right some wrongs.”

              Harry snorted and followed Draco into the locker room, the attendant closing the doors behind them.

              “This place is insane,” Harry informed Draco the second they were alone again. “In a good way, of course.” Harry reached inside of his locker to feel the plush bathrobe, downy soft. He looked over at Draco to see him stripping with zeal, folding his clothes once they were off him to hang on the locker shelves.

              “Staring at me changing, Potter?” Draco accused with a wicked grin.

              “Maybe I am,” Harry retaliated, undoing his vest and button-down so he could join Draco in the nude. “No homo, though.”

              They both laughed, shaking their heads as they got off the last of their respective clothing.

              “Let me put it on you,” Draco requested of Harry’s robe, coming up behind him.

              “Sure.”

              Draco slid Harry’s arms through the sleeves and brought the robe to tie in the front, covering up his chest with soft fabric. “There we go,” Draco murmured and tied it off around the waist. “All snug.” He smoothed back Harry’s hair and kissed his scar. “To the steam room first. Let’s sweat out all of that stress.” He gave Harry’s shoulders a few good rubs before donning his own robe. “Shall we?”

              Harry took Draco’s hand and followed him through the door on the opposite side of the room to a humid hallway with several more doors. Draco led them to a room labeled ‘Steam’ and opened the door to release a wave of wet heat.

              “Oh, wow,” said Harry, not expecting such a potent intensity. He stepped inside after Draco and immediately felt his skin getting moist.

              “Ahhh,” Draco sighed. “Breathe deep, Harry. We stay in here for ten minutes, or until we’re really sweating.” Draco sat down on a wooden bench, back leaning against the wall as he continued to take deep, cleansing breaths.

              Harry tried to breathe it in and wound up coughing as if overwhelmed by the air purity. Still he joined Draco on the bench, legs spread out as he soaked in the heat. “I’m pretty sure I’m already sweating.”

              “Not like you will be in ten minutes.”

              On the wall a magical clock had begun to tick down their time, and Harry paid close attention to the second hand until his glasses became too hot and foggy to see through. He took them off, shaking out his hair as the time eked by. Why did ten minutes suddenly feel so long?

              “You know,” Draco chimed in, seemingly unbothered by the oppressive heat. “I think this is only our second date. I need to take you out more.”

              “Yeah?” Harry cracked a smile. “Sure, I’d like that. We just needed that week indoors to get, ah, reacquainted.”

              “And that we did,” Draco recalled fondly.

              “I think that was half of what was blowing Hermione’s mind, that only after a day I wanted to move in and after only a week did I know this was something serious.”

              Draco turned to Harry and searched his features, smiling. “I think that will impress my friends even more than your identity. I haven’t had anything serious in years, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d become allergic to it.” Draco pretended to sneeze just to be an arse.

              Harry elbowed him in his soft robe. “You’re too much. You’re so funny, Draco. We really are mad, aren’t we?”

              “The maddest,” Draco agreed and nudged their feet together. That was really as close as they could get in here without it feeling painfully hot.

              The two sat in comfortable silence as the remaining minutes ticked down, a small flourish of an alarm going off once the ten minutes were up. By then Harry was absolutely drenched in sweat and a bit labored in his breathing in.

              “I promise this will do wonders for your skin,” Draco said as if he could feel Harry’s doubt. “Now come on. We take a quick shower and into the tub we go. Do you prefer floral or citrus for the bath mix?” Draco stood and Harry followed.

              “Floral,” he decided, the air outside of the steam room coming as a cold shock to his system once they stepped out, sealing the door behind them. “Oof, I can finally breathe again.”

              “It also does wonders for the lungs. Prolonged exposure can harm them but just a little taste is enough to reinvigorate the spirit.” Draco led the way towards a tiled room with a massive bath that reminded Harry of the Prefect’s bathroom at Hogwarts.

              To the side was a row of showerheads and Harry followed Draco’s lead in taking off the robe as they approached it. They folded the soft fabric and rested it on a table nearby, with Harry only slightly paranoid about how big the room was to be naked in. He would always be at least a little suspicious of such open spaces.

              Draco turned on a showerhead and waved his hand to invite Harry under it with him.

              With a childlike wonder Harry stepped into the spray clinging to Draco, cold water washing away their dampness. Harry’s glasses went on the table with the robes so he had to be close to see the details on Draco’s face, arms around him to make sure he’d never be out of sight.

              “So cute,” Draco murmured of his lover, ruffling his wet hair under the downpour. “There, now let’s get to the fun part.”

              “I would argue any time being naked with you is the fun part,” Harry volleyed back to him, grinning like a right fool.

              Draco laughed brightly. “Yes, you think so? What a lucky Daddy I am, to have a pet as sweet as you. Come on, let’s go for a soak.” Draco turned off the shower and the room was instantly warmer again, the hot water of the jacuzzi bath bubbling with its jets.

              From a shelf to the side Draco fetched a large, pink bath bomb that glittered under the low lights. He dropped it into the water with a heavy splash, watching it bob slightly as the whole bath began to blush pink. Spectral pink butterflies emerged as the bath bomb twirled in the water, sending rays of light out from the cracks emerging in it.

              “Wow,” said Harry because magic was still so beautiful to him.

              “Yeah,” said Draco because magic was always more beautiful next to Harry.

              Harry put an experimental foot in the water and sighed aloud at how perfectly warm it was. He stepped in, Draco following him, and sank all the way down to below his nose in the water, enjoying the heat wrapped around him like a blanket and the scents of lavender and rose wafting up his nose.

              Draco dipped below the surface to wet his hair and then came up with some ruckus in the water, shaking off his hair and smoothing it back. “Ah, I needed this,” Draco declared as he rested back against a jet so it could pound his back knots.

              “I think I did, too,” Harry couldn’t help but agree. He settled in beside Draco, nudging their thighs together. “And I believe face masks were mentioned?”

              “That they were. Here.” Draco took his wand from the side of the tub and murmured a spell to open the cabinet from which he’d grabbed the bath bomb. A tube of avocado-and-clay face mask material floated their way until Draco could close his hand around it and snatch it out of the air. “This one will be perfect for you.”

              “Sure,” Harry said, trusting Draco’s judgement implicitly.

              A butterfly landed on Harry’s shoulder and beat its wings once before turning into iridescent soap bubbles and floating away as Draco readied the face mask.

              “Lean in to me,” Draco requested and Harry did so without hesitation, presenting his face with his wide, trusting eyes front and center. Draco smiled and snuck in a kiss to his nose before starting to work.

              He applied the facemask in even but thick strokes, starting with Harry’s T-zone and working out. It was a fragrant and consistent solution that Draco caked on and thinned out with his fingers until Harry’s face was covered in an even green coating.

              “Here, I’ll do it for you,” Harry offered, taking the bottle.

              “Okay,” said Draco, pleasantly surprised. He offered his face forward next, relishing in how carefully Harry’s fingers spread the mask across his delicate skin.

              Soon enough they were both coated, washing their hands off under the water to rid them of the excess.

              “We wait until this dries and then wash it off,” Draco informed Harry, bodies now closer than ever under the swirling pink water. “It will take a bit, so for now all we need to do is relax.”

              Harry hummed, nudging their feet together under the surface. “I like the sound of that.” He wanted to kiss Draco’s cheek and had to restrain himself from ruining the even coverage he’d achieved. He settled on taking Draco’s hand and holding it close to his chest.

              Delighted by the intimate gesture Draco happily curled his hand around Harry’s. “And no spa experience would be complete, of course, without…” Draco used his free hand to wave his wand so that a bowl could float over to them. He removed four cucumber slices so he could lay two gently over Harry’s eyelids and finish off with placing them over his own.

              With a little chuckle Harry settled back so the slices would stay flat and still, the darkness of his own eyelids comforting when that darkness was spent with Draco Malfoy. “Hey… Draco?”

              “Yes, little love?”

              “Thank you. Thank you for this and for… everything.”

              Harry couldn’t see with his eyes covered by the cucumbers but Draco was smiling so wide it almost hurt. “You are most welcome, dear,” Draco reassured him, squeezing his hands. “Only the best for Daddy’s favorite.”

              Harry’s chest bubbled up with warmth. “And Daddy’s only.”

              “And my only,” Draco nodded sagely. “It is the two of us against the injustices of the world, just as I said before. We have so many more wrongs to right, Harry. Have you ever been to a wizarding amusement park? Or a proper masseuse?”

              “Neither,” Harry spoke into the darkness of his eyelids. The cucumbers made them feel soft, and extra hydrated. “But I counter that with—have you ever been to the movies? Or a bowling alley?”

              “I would hardly call those injustices—“

              “Well, I would,” Harry countered. “So we’re just going to have to do both.”

              “Both,” Draco mused aloud. “Okay, we can do both.”

              “Good.” Harry brought up Draco’s hand to his lips and kissed it, leaving only a little of the facemask behind on the back of his knuckles. “I want to show you my world as much as you’ve shown me yours.”

              “No getting out of it then, eh?” Draco teased. He was a little curious, and nothing could be too terrible with Harry there at his side.

              “Not if you want to be getting into anything tonight, no,” Harry teased right back.

              Draco laughed, squirming closer to Harry beneath the glittery water. “Message received.”

              “Good,” Harry said. “Good.”

              And so everything was, and so it would be for the rest of their evening.

 


	11. Draco Dormiens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore an honest oath to my housemates when I started writing this chapter it was because I’d just watched S1E6 of Limmy’s Show and that’s all I’m going to say about that. Sorry this took so long!

**Chapter 11: Draco Dormiens**

              Harry sat in his flat alone when he heard the first knock on the door.

              He ignored it, an uneasy feeling in his stomach about who it was.

              It was loud, rhythmically shaking the walls with each reverberation. When Harry stayed still the knocking grew more insistent, as if it knew he was there.

              Harry wasn’t expecting visitors. He tried to be as still as he could, not even breathing when the next knocks came.

              It scared him, but not nearly as much as the knock on the window. Harry scrambled into his bed, searching for his wand in the messy covers. Fuck, where was his wand?! Hadn’t he cleaned this place up?

              The knocking on the door and window grew to a terrible din. The banging and pounding and _screaming_ —so much screaming, all directed at him.

              _Bastard, abomination, sicko, freak!_

              _Selfish, rotten, good-for-nothing!_ it called to him in his Aunt’s voice. He could see her in the doorway now even though he hadn’t let her in. Harry drew the covers up around himself, trying to hide like a child. _Just like your father._

              Harry burrowed his face into the dark of the blanket to discover new horrors. Dementors floating his way beneath the darkness of the fabric, their horrible sucking sound pervading the air. Harry screamed but no noise came out, tossing the blanket off himself and sprinting off the bed.

              No matter how hard he pushed his body, though, Harry felt as if he were moving through molasses. His flight mattered not when he bumped right into two Aurors with their wands at the ready. _Crazy Potter, we’re taking you in. You’re guilty—it should have been you who died in the war!_

Quicksand around his ankles, a plastic bag over his head—Harry fought to break free.

_LIAR! You must not tell lies, you wicked troublemaker!_

              Harry was absolutely surrounded. Dementors, Aurors, Death Eaters, and faces of the past and present alike reached out to claw at Harry’s face. He ran but it was never fast enough, and he never had his wand working right, and in the scratching darkness there was only crushing breathlessness.

              “Harry, Harry!”

              Harry tossed in his sleep, body convulsing violently as he struggled for air.

              “Harry, wake up, it’s me. You’re having a nightmare,” Draco urged him. “It’s not real, Harry, but I am. Wake up!”

              With a horrible gasp Harry’s eyes burst wide open, hands flying to Draco. He wheezed, tears in his eyes, and Draco drew him in for a hug.

              “It’s okay, Harry. It’s me, I’m here and it was but a dream,” Draco whispered, clutching the shaking man with all his might. “It’s okay, everything is going to be okay. Daddy’s here, I’m here.”

              The tears couldn’t be helped, Harry supposed, but he still felt shame as they rolled hot down his cheeks. This warmth, this beautiful man whose bed he’d fallen asleep in—more than anything, Harry was embarrassed in front of him. He’d disturbed Draco’s sleep for nothing.

              “It’s okay,” Draco insisted once more. “You can cry all you need to, Harry. I’ve got you.”

              At that the waterworks really came in hot. Daddy was being so kind to him, always so attentive and caring like no other man had been, like no one had been for Harry as a child. “Daddy,” Harry sobbed into his shoulder, unable to articulate what that meant to him.

              Still, Draco understood him perfectly. “There you go,” Draco murmured, smoothing his hand over Harry’s bare back in circles. “There, go ahead darling, you can cry all you like. I’m so sorry you had a nightmare, my sweet.”

              Harry was no longer crying about the nightmare, but how tender Draco was being, how crucial he was to his happiness these days. Whenever Harry felt fragile Draco would always scoop him up into his arms like this, like he was holding him together from falling apart. Harry was still catching his breath as he wept and the sounds that produced were harsh and uneven.

              “It wasn’t real,” Draco went on to whisper, hand still making his soothing motions. “Daddy’s here, and I’m real.” Draco took one of Harry’s hands by the wrist and placed it over his heart for Harry to touch. “This heart is yours, Harry. Can you feel it?”

              Harry looked up with raw, red eyes to see Draco’s were the same. Harry reached up with the hand that wasn’t pressed to Draco’s precious heart, catching a tear on his thumb. “I can feel it,” Harry murmured, voice unsteady as his shuddery breathing began to subside.

              “There we go, that’s it,” Draco murmured in return, going a bit pink at Harry seeing him cry for him. Such a kind man didn’t deserve such horrific night terrors, was all. “Just breathe, you’re doing so well. Remember today?”

              Harry just breathed, focusing on the air going in and out, the rhythm slowing to match Draco’s guiding breaths. When he was steady enough he nodded.

              “Yes, good, remember how much fun we had today. We picked out fountains, and statues, and all kinds of seeds. You were so happy to see the flowers.”

              “Nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before,” Harry admitted, voice thin and still sniffling. “Especially not whole bushes of them. They look so lovely transplanted in the yard, and my own will start growing in soon.”

              “Yes,” Draco soothed, pressing a kiss to each of Harry’s wet cheeks. “Soon your flowers will be in full bloom. Let’s think about that.”

              “…Daddy?” Harry whispered after awhile.

              “Yes, dear?”

              “Thank you.”

              Draco’s look of concern turned to a warm smile. “No need to thank me. That’s what Daddies do.”

              “I wish,” Harry said before he could stop himself. “That you’d always been around. I could have really used that during the war.”

              “I wish I had been there, too,” Draco replied with a tenuous strength. He had been misty seeing Harry so upset. “Instead of being a damned fool. Can you settle for me being here now?”

              “Yes,” Harry laughed, breaking into an uncontrollable smile through the tears. “I think I can.” He took Draco in a salty kiss, limbs still trembling slightly.

              “Do you want to talk about it?” Draco asked.

              “No, it’s nothing worth talking about,” Harry decided. “I’d rather just let it fade in my head.”

              Draco nodded. “Fade away, then. Would you like some water?”

              “Yes, thank you,” Harry requested quietly.

              Draco took the magically-chilled water from the bedside table and passed it to Harry who drank deep. When he was done Draco took a few gulps of his own before placing it back on its coaster. They had to rehydrate after all that weeping, Draco supposed.

              “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep much, though. That thing happened where I can’t breathe and it always shakes me up. It’s like—it’s like a Dementor’s kiss, really.”

              “I hate that you have the actual frame of reference to not be exaggerating that,” Draco lamented with a few pats to Harry’s back. “And I’m sorry, sleep paralysis is a frightening thing.”

              “I’ll say,” Harry grumbled, clearly feeling better if he could pout.

              “Well, considering we don’t have anything planned until later tomorrow… If you’re up, I’m up. I was having boring dreams anyway,” insisted Draco.

              “Boring dreams? Bit of an oxymoron,” Harry said with an unparalleled fondness for Draco’s way of speaking. “What about?”

              “Hospital nonsense. Interns, pleasing Pye, diagnosing cases,” Draco dismissed. “Something much more exciting than that is being in bed with a gorgeous, naked bloke.”

              Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve never felt so comfortable naked with anyone before, you know.” Harry always thought he was too thin, but with Draco’s cooking and his own learning that might change. Even better, with Draco’s attentive affection Harry might stop caring altogether. He’d never once felt judged in Draco’s eyes since they’d reunited at that bar.

              “Yeah? I’m honored,” Draco grinned. “I have the gift of being very comfortable naked wherever I go, so I unfortunately cannot relate.”

              “And where but this Manor are you usually naked?” Harry asked, raising a brow.

              “Oh, you know, locker rooms and such. That, and those parties I spoke of on occasion.”

              Now that piqued Harry’s interest. He nudged a foot between Draco’s under the covers. “Do you have to… participate? If you go, I mean.” Harry couldn’t help but be curious since this was an aspect of Draco’s sexual past and maybe even his future if Harry felt safe there.

              “No one is required to join a scene,” Draco assured him. “It’s not a free-for-all; there are rules. For example, if we went I’d claim you as my submissive and flaunt you in front of the other Dominants, but never let them touch what’s mine.”

              A pleasant chill ran up Harry’s spine. “I think I might like that,” Harry admitted shyly, hand on Draco’s chest gently caressing him with renewed purpose.

              Draco smirked. “Yes, well, you know how terrible I am with sharing what’s mine. We’d have you tarted up and pretty for me and me alone. Everyone else looking on will simply have to burn in jealousy.” He slid his hand down the slope of Harry’s back to grab his arse. “This? This belongs to me, and any man with eyes in his skull would envy me for it.”

              Now Harry was really blushing. He squirmed back against Draco’s hand and shimmied to tempt him all the same. “Show me,” Harry requested softly. “How it’s yours.”

              “On your stomach,” Draco ordered and Harry followed.

              Harry rested his head on its side on the pillow, eyes cast back at Draco wide and expectant.

              Draco, now having perfect access to what belonged to him, grabbed a handful of arsecheek with each hand. “Gorgeous.”

              “Daddy,” Harry giggled, nightmare far behind him.

              “You are,” Draco insisted. “Absolutely gorgeous.” He squeezed Harry’s arse and bounced it lightly when he let it go. “The whole world ought to be jealous of me, really. To have such a sweet, handsome submissive who obeys like he was destined to—well, few people ever get so lucky.”

              Harry smiled back at him, legs spreading unconsciously.

              “Such a good whore,” Draco cooed as he began to stroke the backs of Harry’s thighs, encouraging him to spread them further. When his knees were far enough apart Draco slipped between them, resting on his own knees on the bed and leaning forward to kiss the base of Harry’s spine.

              With a little hum Harry moved back against Draco. “I like to be your good whore,” he said softly. “Tell me what you want, Daddy, and I’ll do it.”

              Draco smirked at how Harry was practically begging for orders. He kissed down Harry’s hips and rested his lips above the curve of his arse. “I want you to tell me,” Draco said. “How this feels.”

              Draco spread Harry’s cheeks and pressed the tip of his tongue to where he could feel Harry’s sacrum bone beneath and dragged it down, down over his hole and along his bollocks.

              “Oh,” said Harry, his grip on the pillow tightening. “That feels good.”

              “This does?” Draco teased and pressed his tongue flat to go back up the same route, taking his sweet time with it.

              “Yes, that feels so good. Your tongue…” Harry sighed.

              Draco licked another stripe up and this time lingered around his hole in achingly-slow circles. Harry’s wispy sighs guided and encouraged Draco all the way, and came to a peak when Draco flicked his tongue deep inside the center of the puckered skin.

              Shivers ran down Harry’s spine, feeling quite spoiled by all of the attention.

              In return Draco felt quite spoiled with all that was laid out for him, reaching out to fondle Harry’s balls just because he could. He loved holding them in his hand, loved feeling how delicate they were knowing he could inflict such pain on them if he so wished.

              Now was not the time for pain, though. Harry could take quite the thrashing of his most sensitive parts like a true trooper, a trait Draco deeply admired, but that wasn’t what he needed from Daddy at the moment.

              Draco himself was terrible with any uncomfortable physical sensations. He bruised like a peach and always held a sour attitude when he was in pain, unlike the blissful release it seemed to bring for Harry when administered properly.

              It was a close tie, whether Draco liked seeing Harry pleasured or pained the most, but tonight he’d be going with the former.

              This tenderness left Harry’s unguarded heart completely exposed along with his literal exposure. Draco Malfoy could be so damned sweet—if Ron and Hermione only knew the half of it… Ah, thoughts for a later time.

              Harry’s mind quickly turned to the situation at hand when Draco’s hands spread his cheeks as wide as they could go and pressed his lips to the exposed hole to kiss it deeply. “Oh,” Harry said with a shiver.

              Draco responded by lapping his tongue as far as he could inside, licking in firm and dedicated machinations seeking Harry’s relaxation. Silently he committed himself to doing this until Harry was a simpering mess, the first signs of such a transformation coming with the shaking of Harry’s legs.

              Such fine, lovely short legs—Draco ran his hands up and down them as his mouth worked relentlessly on Harry, sucking and licking deeply.

              “You feel incredible,” Harry gasped out, clutching the pillow tighter than ever, digging his teeth in for his appreciative audience. His breathing was naturally shallow now and came out in little moans, hips beginning to work shamelessly back onto Draco’s mouth.

              Draco, smug as ever, pushed even harder on Harry. From this angle he could see he was making a drooling pillowbiter of The Boy Who Lived and that rush would never get old.

              Draco’s own arousal hung heavy between his legs, ignored for now so that he could focus entirely on Harry.

              “Daddy,” Harry moaned with the pillow between his teeth, stirring a heat low in Draco’s stomach.

              “Open your mouth,” Draco ordered and Harry did so without hesitation only to find it filled with two of Draco’s fingers. Harry made an appreciative noise and began sucking on them before Draco could even instruct him to. “So eager.”

              Harry nodded slightly with the fingers in his mouth, tongue lavishing across them and wrapping around them wherever he could. Draco’s continued licks kept Harry pressed flush to the bed and wriggling for him. Harry was hard but knew better than to pleasure himself without permission, so he channeled his frustrations into sucking on Draco’s fingers like they were his cock.

              With a grin Draco pushed the digits in deeper, feeling the velvety inside of Harry’s cheek with his fingertips. “Now open.”

              Harry parted his lips and let Draco’s fingers slip from between them, a trail of saliva following behind.

              “Good boy.” Draco pulled his hand back and Harry felt the warm press of a coated finger to his hole, properly dripping with saliva as well. With a little added oil from Draco’s quiet summoning spell Draco nudged the first finger at Harry’s entrance.

              Harry moaned, head tipped over his shoulder so he could get his best view of Draco. The blonde was looking particularly smug and Harry couldn’t blame him for the man truly had him in the palm of his hand like this.

              Draco paid careful attention to the flutter of Harry’s eyelashes as he slid the first finger in, fingertip feeling his walls as it had Harry’s cheek.

              “Uhnk,” Harry articulated, resting his head on the pillow with complete trust from experience that Draco knew what he was doing in this respect. “I like it,” Harry clarified, arse wriggling with Draco inside of him. “Being full of you.”

              “You’re about to be much fuller,” Draco promised with a purr in the back of his throat. “Would you like that?”

              “Yes,” Harry answered breathlessly. “Yes Daddy, I want all of you in me, the whole thing.”

              “What ‘thing’, my cock?” Draco squeezed Harry’s arse. “You best respect what gives you such pleasure.”

              “Yes, your cock,” Harry answered quickly, wanting to remain a good boy. In response to his answer he got Draco’s finger stoking the flame inside of him, a gentle movement in and out, back and forth. “I love your cock.”

              Now that made Draco smile. “You do? Tell me, sweetling. Tell Daddy how much you love being fucked.”

              Harry hummed, eyelids fluttering at how just one finger of Draco’s could make him feel so open already. “I love it, Daddy. The stretch, the burn, the way it almost feels like it’s too much, like it shouldn’t fit but it does—you _make_ it fit.”

              “Damn right I do,” Draco boasted. Harry could be quite loquacious in the sack when properly prompted and every word out of him was a blessing on Draco’s ears. “Now, deep breath.”

              Harry breathed in and felt a second finger slide inside of him. He made a squeak, knees pushing apart wider. He forced himself to breathe in again. “Y-Yes, sir.”

              With his free hand Draco stroked Harry’s back lovingly, gently in comparison with how he was moving his fingers in and out with no hesitation. “Such a good boy, taking it like you do. You’re Daddy’s favorite, you know that? My favorite and my only, my best boy to play with.” Draco sped up his fingers as he spoke.

              Shaky groans were spilling now from Harry’s mouth, a spot of drool on the pillow before him growing by the second.

              “Yes, let go,” Draco commanded as he positioned himself behind Harry. “That’s it.”

              Draco pressed the tip of his cock to Harry’s hole and parted his fingers wide enough for him to push in. Easing himself deeper with each passing moment Draco let out a groan of his own, raw and true.

              With a whimper Harry adjusted to the new girth by biting harder on the pillow. Harry breathed deep and released the soft fabric from his mouth, leaving a wet spot for him to rest his cheek on. Without his glasses he looked back up at Draco in bleary wonderment as he was split on him.

              “Harry,” Draco growled, giving the first few grinds of his hips down. “Nothing feels better than you.” Nothing felt better than these tight walls around him.

              Beneath him Harry shuddered, cock pulsing with his own rapid heartbeat. After the adjustment Harry could say the same of Draco, eyelids fluttering in his direction. Draco’s first few pumps of his hips gave way to a slower rhythm, easing in and out of him with care. “Oh,” Harry practically whispered.

              Still, Draco heard it. With a half-cocked smile and a groan Draco undulated his hips to plunge his cock in deeper and deeper with each motion.

              “Fuck,” said Harry, voice climbing in volume and pitch.

              “Tell me,” Draco insisted again because he wanted to hear it. “How it feels to be mine.”

              Harry moaned shamelessly as Draco’s cockhead ground against a spot that made him see stars. “I love it,” Harry replied through his strain. “I love being yours. Oh, oh—“ Harry cut himself off with a deep growl that simply had to be let out of him.

              “You love to be mine? Oh, Harry, what a romantic you are when you’ve got cock up your arse,” Draco teased, giving a few particularly hard pumps where their skin slapped together. “Tell me more. I want to hear it all, how does it feel?”

              “I’m so open,” Harry gasped, hardly believing how Draco could relax him so. Maybe it was the spa treatments, or the constant presents and new clothes, or the way they were building this house up together, but Harry felt looked after for the first time in his life. Even now Draco wanted to hear what he had to say, wanted to know what it was like to be in Harry’s skin. “You make me so, so open.”

              Under Harry’s skin Draco thrust away, hands spreading Harry’s cheeks out so he could watch himself be buried in him. “All,” Draco said, huffing slightly with the effort. “To fill you with good things, my pet.”

              “Daddy,” Harry cried out, hands balled up clutching his pillow for dear life. “I want your come. Please, please may I have it? I want it so bad…”

              Draco’s heart flipped in his chest. “Yes,” he hissed, hands moving out to grip Harry’s waist. “Yes, you’ve been a good comeslut, Harry. Good, good comeslut,” Draco babbled as he sped up. He’d always known Harry took a special pleasure in taking his load but the request was unexpectedly sweet and vulnerable of him. That _had_ to be rewarded.

              As Draco’s grip tightened Harry’s heart soared to be told he was doing well, doing good. The world and the corners of Harry’s mind had so much bad that he’d do just about anything to feel good. Lucky him he’d found someone to do it with. “I love how it feels,” Harry rambled on, far past caring what he sounded like. “When it drips out of me.”

              To Draco Harry sounded like an angel. He fucked his hole relentlessly, gasping and groaning in a crescendo of sounds that signaled Draco was nearing his end.

              “Yes, yes,” Harry chanted. “Yes, yes, yes!”

              “Harry,” Draco called out into the echo of the room. He reached around Harry’s hip to take him in-hand. “With me.”

              “Thank you,” was all Harry could say when Draco’s sweet, sweet palm was pressed up against him. “Thank you, thank you—!”

              Draco came with a shout, his release hitting him so hard it doubled him over Harry.

              Harry, having finally gotten exactly what he wanted, spent himself all over Draco’s expensive sheets. “Thank you,” he whimpered, eyes watering. “Thank you, Daddy.” The seed inside of him felt magnificent, and he knew it would be leaking out of him all night. For a brief moment Harry never wanted Draco to pull out again.

              As Draco softened it was an inevitability, though, and Draco soon slid out leaving dribbles of come in his wake. “Harry,” Draco panted, sliding up next to him and taking him up in his arms once more. Draco rested his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, kissing the salty skin there. “Harry fucking Potter…”

              Harry barked an unexpected laugh. “That’s me, yeah.”

              “Comeslut extraordinaire,” Draco dubbed him and Harry laughed like a fool, leaning into his every touch. “Mm, was it everything you wanted?”

              “And then some.”

              “Good.” Draco gave his cheek a big kiss. “We can stay up as long as you like.”

              “Thank you…”

              “You really don’t have to thank me, but yes, you are most welcome,” Draco told him.

              Harry snorted. “It always feels like I should. You do so much for me.”

              “And you do so much for me,” Draco countered. “Having you to take care of makes me take better care of myself, of this whole house. I don’t think I would have ever gotten to the gardens without you.”

              “You would have eventually,” insisted Harry.

              “Maybe. But they wouldn’t be half as beautiful.”

              “Oh, Draco…”

              Their lips met, their hands joined, and their hearts beat as one. In this post-coital bliss there was nothing they couldn’t do, and nothing they couldn’t accomplish together.

*** *** ***

              Telling the truth was a terrifying thing.

At least that was how Draco Malfoy saw it coming up the neat, trim lawn of Pansy Parkinson’s London townhouse. Worse than mocking him Draco feared that his friends might just not believe him, might think his truth was a joke in bad taste.

              Every day that Draco came home from work to find Harry whistling a little tune while cooking in his kitchen—their kitchen, dare he even say—was a day of victory, pure joyous triumph. Even he didn’t believe it was real sometimes.

              Pausing before the door Draco took a moment to fidget with the Malfoy signet ring. He took a breath and raised a fist.

Draco knocked on the door once to have it spring open almost immediately.

              “Draco!” Pansy greeted him, taking him in a big and crushing hug. “We’re so glad to see you, so glad you’re here.”

              Oh, Salazar, were they all in there waiting for him? Draco’s nerves spiked again, prying himself from Pansy’s arms so he could check how full the living room was. Yes, they were all there.

              Pansy’s living room made use of metallic and modernism in a way she would have never thought to experiment with years ago. Modern was muggle, and that used to be unacceptable to Pansy Parkinson.

              Everyone had to grow up and out of their purism fast when the War ended, but it still took Pansy nearly a decade to grow out of the hatred she’d been taught. Everything changed, though slowly, from interpersonal relationships to the kind of furniture she picked out.

              If the tasteful glass coffee table in this silvery room could talk, oh the things it would say. These Slytherins had gathered around it many a time in the year to dish gossip and personal stories. Draco preferred it when they were talking about other people, but it seemed that would only come after the spilling of his own guts today.

              “Funny, we were just talking about you,” Blaise waved on from the couch with legs crossed in tight designer trousers. He was lounging without a care in the world until Draco came in, forcing him into alertness for his unending need for dirt on others.

              “Good to see you,” said Greg, putting his beer bottle down to wave. “Your man let you come up for air?”

              Theo was in a plush, silver-trimmed armchair shaking his head. “You’re ambushing him, you lot. Let him actually breathe a little,” Theo suggested.

              “Thank you for defending my honor, Theodore,” Draco said his full name because he knew it’d annoy him. Draco could hardly resist; being contrary was their thing.

              “Nevermind, I take it back. Ambush him all you like,” Theo waved on.

              “Who wouldn’t be curious? Come on. If I had some secret submissive tucked away at home you lot would be just as bad, maybe even worse,” Blaise accused them all as Draco sat down in his usual armchair. “You especially.” He pointed at the blonde.

              This was going to be a long night. “Blaise,” Draco sighed and toed off his shoes. “Can you let a man have a drink before going down this ridiculous line of questioning?”

              “Chilled and ready,” said Pansy from the kitchen, holding up matching margaritas for Draco and her. With a happy noise she, clearly already a few drinks in, bounced back to the living room and handed Draco his drink. “Now drink, if drinking’s what it’ll take to get this out of you.”

              Draco sighed and started sipping while Pansy flounced happily back to her couch.

              “Can you really blame us for missing you?” asked Greg.

              “We’re only sure you’re alive because of Pansy’s updates from work,” Blaise agreed. “You never go MIA like this, even when you have a new boytoy, so this one must be something special. Go on, tell us about him!”

              “Usually,” Theo pointed out. “You wouldn’t hesitate to brag. You being dodgy about this just makes us want to question you more.”

              “It’s complicated,” Draco started and took a long drink. He sighed. “Really it’s rather simple, but… you know what I mean.”

              Draco’s four best friends stared at him intently, leaning in and waiting for more.

              “There is a man,” continued Draco. “Who I fancy very much, who’s agreed to live with me in the sort of arrangement I’ve always talked about wanting. We met through the magazine, but, well, really we met _before_ the magazine.”

              Pansy frowned over her drink. “I thought the magazine was anonymous.”

              “It is.”

              “So you knew him before the magazine?” Theo figured out.

              Draco shifted in his chair. “The thing is,” he tried. “We _all_ knew him before the magazine.”

              “I don’t understand,” Greg said flatly.

              “The man I am seeing,” Draco clarified, slowly this time. “Is someone we all know.” Oh, here he went…

              The four exchanged glances. “ _What_?” asked Theo for the group.

              “The man whose ad I responded to, the one who is living at the Manor with me now, is someone we know from school.”

              Jaws dropped.

              “So this is why you were so touchy about a name,” Pansy realized and sat straight up at the edge of her seat. “You have to tell us. You absolutely have to tell us now.”

              “And I’m going to,” Draco cut her off. “But you have to swear something to me first.”

              “I’m prepared to do an Unbreakable Vow just to be out of this suspense,” Blaise declared.

              “Come on, mate. You can tell us anything,” pushed Theo.

              “I can tell you anything and you’ll keep it out of the press, I know that,” Draco prefaced his next statement with. “But…”

              “But?” Pansy demanded.

              “I have to ask you, formally, to please not let your mouths run with this one. Don’t talk about it outside of secure, closed quarters. It’s not just my secret you’re keeping, it’s his,” Draco reminded them in a tone far too serious for the frivolous drink in his hand. He took another swig and the ice clacked together. “People don’t even know he’s gay, let alone living like this.”

              “Shouldn’t it be your reputation you look out for?” Blaise questioned. “Your whole live-in fantasy would be a field day for the Prophet with how little they understand about what it means to be a Dominant. They’d demonize you for doing this in the Manor especially.”

              Draco grit his teeth. “You think I don’t know that? Still, it’s him who has more to lose here, and that’s what I’m concerned about.”

              “Awwww,” Pansy cooed. “Draco cares!”

              Draco went pink in the face. “What? Of course I do!”

              “No but I mean like, really really cares. Maybe even… loves?” accused a tipsy Pansy. “Now tell us his name before I start guessing.”

              “Zacharias Smith,” guessed Greg.

              “No, no, we are not guessing,” Draco put a stop to that immediately. “And seriously? Him? No thanks.”

              “Then who?” demanded Theo, eyes wide.

              “The person I am seeing is… Harry Potter.”

              For a moment Draco could have heard a pin drop in the room. All of his friends were staring, mouths agape, faces twisted in confusion.

              “I am not joking,” Draco nipped in the bud quickly. “So quit looking like you’re about to laugh, Blaise.”

              “You,” said Pansy, a finger pointed square at Draco. “You are telling me,” she paused for a breath. “You have Harry James Potter, your painfully obvious childhood crush, tied up in the Manor somewhere _right now_?”

              “He’s not—I didn’t just leave him bound somewhere!” Draco balked.

              “Merlin’s fucking balls,” said Theo.

              “Harry Potter’s fucking balls,” remarked Blaise, still smiling like an idiot.

              Draco’s face went bright red and then the laughter came. He sighed, taking it with a stiff upper lip and an arched brow.

              “Oh, come on,” Pansy giggled. “We’re happy for you! Shocked, and happy!”

              “Real happy,” Greg piled on. “I always knew he fancied you back when we was kids.”

              “What? That’s ridiculous…” Draco’s blush deepened.

              “And I always knew he and the redhead would never last. Does this mean she’s single?” Blaise questioned. “Ah, sweet Weaselette. Oh, wait, aren’t Granger and the Weasel getting married soon?”

              “…I have to call them Hermione and Ron now,” Draco grumbled to another set of raucous laughs from all of his friends.

              Theo was laughing so hard he wiped away a fake tear. “Oh, this is so rich,” he got out between laughs. “Potter’s gay? With you? And you didn’t even know it was him until you met?”

              “I let him see me first,” Draco shrugged and took a long sip of his drink. “I guess he liked what he saw.”

              The Slytherins howled in riotous amusement, and Draco’s chest relaxed. It was sort of funny, yes, and he knew how to work this crowd well. They were always on his side, but maybe he could get them to be a little less embarrassing about the situation by owning it.

              “He was the one who put an ad out looking for someone with exactly my kind of desires,” Draco let them in on. “I was one of many who responded to him, but he only ever replied to me.”

              “Yeah, I can see that,” Theo nodded. “Potter being a submissive makes sense. Guess you can only have so much hero-worship in one lifetime—tell me, how bratty is he?”

              “What did his ad say?” asked Blaise.

              “What do his friends say?” asked Pansy.

              “And does he call you…? You know,” asked Greg, already himself blushing about it. He’d never gotten a girlfriend to call him that, not even once.

              “Yes,” Draco answered of the last question. “He does.”

              “Bloody fuck,” said Theo. “No wonder you haven’t emerged. You’ve had literal decades of tension to iron out.”

              “We’ve sorted our problems and past disagreements, yes,” Draco let himself chuckle about Harry and him. “Getting along swimmingly, really. And his friends do know some of how we met, excluding the lifestyle. Poor Greg looks like he’s about to pass out talking about this and you can only imagine what his Hogwarts Sweethearts best friends might think about what we like.”

              “I always saw Granger as a Domme,” Blaise sighed wistfully.

              “You wish,” Pansy scoffed.

              “And you wish she was a submissive so you could have her, too,” Blaise teased.

              “I’m perfectly content with my two pets,” Pansy preened, always happy to talk about herself. “And they are _perfectly_ content with me.”

              “Yes, okay, but can we get back to the part where Draco’s shagging Potter?” Theo requested. “Like, very often, apparently?”

              Draco finished off his drink, feeling the warmth spread through his throat and chest. “He’s also helping me put the Manor back together. You’ll have to come over and see sometime—and yes, that means I’ve cleared a visit with all of you and him.”

              The howls of delight went up again. “Yes!” cried Pansy. “Yes! So he doesn’t hate us?”

              “No, he does not hate you,” Draco confirmed with some amusement, thinking back to when Harry thought that about them.

              “Even though Pansy offered up his immortal soul to the Dark Lord?” Theo teased her, earning a little slap to the shoulder.

              “Harry wants to put all that past him,” Draco assured them. “He wants to get to know you because you’re important to me, so don’t be weird or cock it up. He’s shy, especially about the lifestyle we’re living, so go easy on him.”

              “I’m sure you don’t,” Blaise jeered.

              “See? It’s stupid comments like that I need you to avoid for at least like, the first half hour of meeting him,” Draco pointed out.

              “But really, Harry Potter as someone’s ickle little house boy, I’m reeling over here,” Theo emphasized. “You’ve described your ideal relationship to us several times, and knowing he fits that script? Fucking incredible.”

              “Does he like pain?” asked Blaise.

              “Does he worship you?” asked Pansy.

              “Does this mean we’re gonna get to see him in a little maid’s outfit?” asked Theo, utterly delighted by the mental image.

              Draco chuckled, recalling that fantasy being a particularly potent one back in Hogwarts. “Down, all of you,” he laughed. “I’m a gentleman; you’re not getting that much out of me.”

              “Oh, come on! Give us more!” Pansy requested. “I’ll get you another drink, how’s that sound?”

              “One more,” Draco allowed, getting a creeping feeling that this was going to be a long night of dodging questions.

              “Yay!” Pansy sped off to the kitchen and Blaise and Theo leaned in.

              “Is he into _everything_ you’re into? That’s a lot of stuff,” Blaise pointed out.

              “Have you had a chance to use those nipple clamps you got at Pride last year?” Theo pressed.

              “Did I hear ‘nipple clamps’?” Pansy called from the kitchen. “Don’t you dare discuss it without me!”

              “No one is discussing nipple clamps!” Draco laughed, shaking his head. “I swear, it’s like none of you have sex lives of your own. Go feed off someone else’s dirty stories—like I said, for him I am a gentleman.”

              “How cute,” Theo remarked flatly.

              “How boring!” said Pansy as she returned with Draco’s drink.

              “Why don’t you share a story, hm, Panda?” Draco requested of her. Everyone in the room groaned.

              “Well, if you insist.” She took her chair and put on her most devilish smirk. “So I was coming off a win streak in Atlantic City, coins all over my tits, when…”

*** *** ***

              Draco was eating dinner at Pansy’s tonight so Harry made himself a sandwich and dined alone, trying not to think about it.

              Harry was caught up in thoughts of Hogwarts, a dangerous territory for him to be veering into, but knowing Draco was with all his childhood friends right now was making him nostalgic for the better times. It was at Hogwarts where he’d made his first real friends, and had his first crushes, including his often-repressed one on Draco.

              It was not love at first sight, not in the slightest, as cute as eleven year-old Draco was to eleven year-old Harry. Draco had been a little prick, not unlike Dudley at all, and Harry gave Draco his first dose of reality by rejecting him outright. Before that Draco had lived in a bubble where everyone extolled and adored him and his abilities.

              He’d been in this very house.

              Well, not in this exact version of it, but on this land, this property. Draco had grown up here, in this idyllic, isolated place where nothing could really go wrong. Then came Harry Potter in a robe shop in Diagon Alley to muck it all up.

              It was a level of Shakespearian irony that the snotty kid who Harry had rejected was now the man he gave his submission to freely. It was Draco’s hand he looked forward to, firm or soft depending on what Harry didn’t even know he needed yet. Draco knew somehow, maybe now because he listened first instead of blabbed about the ‘right sort of people’.

              It was by him Harry wished to be tied, and wished to be tied to.

              This way of living he’d chosen wasn’t perfect, but it felt right. There were things to be done and someone to cherish who cherished him in return.

              In those countless days wasted wanking off in his flat dreaming of someone who could do the things Draco did to him Harry had never imagined he’d get to really live it. It was thrilling, and sometimes it was achingly slow waiting for Draco to come home to him.

              After dinner Harry occupied himself with watering the plants he’d gotten for the outside and for inside the house, having written down in a journal the instructions to care for each. Sunlight, water, and fresh soil meant something beautiful could grow at this Manor.

              Harry was experimenting with talking to a plant when he heard the fireplace burst with the Floo. “Draco!” he sprang up, hoping he didn’t hear him telling a weeping fig how he’d ‘never felt this way about a man before’.

              “Harry?” Draco called, always thrilled to hear his voice from the fireplace or the front door when he could apparate.

              Harry burst into the parlor to slot right into Draco’s arms, fitting perfectly between them. “Draco,” Harry said, happily burying his face in his neck.

              “Hello to you, too,” Draco said with a grin, tousling Harry’s hair. “Forgive me if I’m foxed, that woman knows how to ply me with drink.”

              Harry laughed, pulling up so he could look into Draco’s bloodshot eyes. “I knew when you didn’t apparate that you were smashed,” Harry reported cheerily.

              “Apparation safety is no joke,” Draco insisted, wobbling slightly.

              “Come here, you. Let’s get you to bed.”

              “It went well,” Draco enthused as Harry walked him out of the room and towards the grand staircase. “They’re excited to meet you. Probably too excited, and I apologize in advance for literally everything out of their mouths.”

              Harry laughed, helping Draco’s unsteady gait up the stairs and noting a particularly adorable red tinge in his cheeks. “That’s a good thing, I think.”

              “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what they were asking about you—all of which I did not answer, of course.”

              “Can I call you ‘good boy’?” Harry grinned.

              “You can call me anything you like, sweetheart,” Draco slurred, resting more and more on Harry as they ascended the staircase together. Thankfully they reached the third floor without too much stumbling. “Were you a good boy while Daddy was away?”

              “Mhm,” hummed Harry, shamelessly nuzzling up to Draco as they walked towards the open doors to his room. “I was thinking of you.”

              Draco toed his shoes off along the way, leaving his socks too in the trail leading up to the bed. The next thing he knew he was flat on his back on the bed, no recollection of how he’d gotten there. “You know what we should get you?” Draco asked as Harry crawled in next to him.

              “What?” Harry asked, amused by this slightly-sillier Draco. Draco drank with Harry over food most nights but Harry had never seen him this properly foxed. He began to unbutton Draco’s shirt for him because he clearly wouldn’t be able to himself.

              “You are so good with the house, we ought to get you a maid uniform,” Draco babbled.

              “Yeah?” Harry chuckled, focused on each little button so that Draco could be free. “For my homemaking skills, of course.”

              “Of course,” Draco agreed. “And because I like you in tight little numbers that show off your arse.” He cupped Harry’s cheek and rubbed the soft, soft skin there near-obsessively in his inebriated state.

              “Ah, the truth comes out,” Harry observed sagely, pushing Draco’s shirt from his shoulders. The next article to go was Draco’s trousers so Harry worked on the belt first. He knew Draco would be uncomfortable in the morning if he fell asleep clothed like this. It was nice to get to take care of Daddy for a change.

              Draco was absolutely loving all this attention, leaning into and chasing Harry’s caring touches. “What can I say? I know what I like.”

              “Tell me all about it,” Harry encouraged, sliding off each trouser leg and leaving Draco in nothing but his underwear.

              “I like you,” Draco started with such sincerity it made Harry’s heart throb. “I like you bent over so I can see your knickers. Wouldn’t that be cute? You scrubbing my floors in black and white while I watch.”

              Now something other than Harry’s heart was throbbing. “Uh huh,” he breathed. “I’d like that.”

              Draco reached for Harry’s shirt and tugged upwards on it until Harry helped it over his head. “Hey, you,” said Draco, a surly smile on his lips as he turned onto his side facing the other man. “Come here.”

              “I dunno, are you too drunk for this?” Harry teased, getting rid of his trousers and snuggling up against Draco so their bodies were fully pressed together.

              A happy sigh left Draco’s body when it was pressed against Harry’s, only their underwear separating them. “A Malfoy _never_ gets too drunk,” Draco insisted in the least-convincing tone possible.

              Harry snickered and kissed him through their smiles.

              “Alright, then. Let me just get…” Harry reached for his wand to conjure forth a vial of oil, looking away from Draco for what couldn’t have been more than a few seconds

              When Harry turned back to Draco he saw something frankly hilarious.

              In the few moments it had taken Harry to shift over to the bedside table it seemed Draco had conked out asleep on the pillow.

              “Draco? ...Draco?”

              A soft, nasally breathing left Draco, his eyes shut and body relaxed.

              “Draco,” Harry laughed, shaking his head.

              Harry took the sheets in his hands and drew them up around Draco’s slumbering form, tucking him in like he had the first night they were here together.

              “Goodnight, Daddy,” Harry wished him, turning him on his side and coming up behind him so he could be his big spoon for the night. “Sweet dreams.”

              Draco, eyes having been growing heavy since he’d laid down, was exhausted. They’d put together a garden and Draco had told his friends about Harry, which Harry knew from experience with his own wasn’t at all easy.

              Harry, curled around his Daddy, thought back to Hogwarts’ motto. Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus—never tickle a sleeping dragon.

              So Harry let him rest, let him sleep, and waited patiently to follow after him once his eyes closed. Tomorrow they would have all the time in the world again, or at least the twenty-four hours before Draco had to return to work on Monday morning.

              It would be a lazy Sunday, and a well-deserved one at that.

              Gently, softly, Harry drifted off to a sleep without nightmares or interruptions, dreaming of Draco.

 


	12. Building a Second Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek, sorry this one took so long! I also wrote most of it on the day after Donald Trump was impeached because I was so happy I had Drarry dreams all night long. Wishing many Drarry dreams to you, my sweet followers!

              The time had come to face the music, as it were.

              Ron and Hermione knew about them, Draco’s friends knew about them, and that meant it was only a matter of time until those two worlds collided entirely. The only safe space that could happen in private was the Manor, and it was, in kinder terms than Draco would put it, unfinished.

              Draco had finished a first and third floor, but that second floor had never quite fallen into place. It was more than unfinished to him, it was a damned mess, a mark, a stain on his conscience that couldn’t be rubbed away so easily.

              “I promised I would help you with this,” Harry reminded Draco as they stood on the landing of the stairs, staring out into vacant, unfurnished space. “We don’t have to finish today, we just have to start.”

              Starting was undoubtedly the hardest part, but Draco kept that comment to himself. Harry was being a darling, a helpful darling, and he didn’t want to shoot that down with some of his on-brand sarcasm and snarking. “It’s… intimidating,” he tried, voice quiet. “My parents expected me to finish this much sooner than I have, and I can only push off their questions about progress for so long…”

              “Then no more pushing off,” declared Harry, drawing out his wand. “The next time you see them you can tell them about all the progress we made. Or, well, you made. No pressure to tell them you had help.”

              Oh, why did Harry have to be so nice and understanding? It was maddening when Draco was feeling so inadequate. “Right,” he faltered. “Let’s start. First things first—the paint for the library.”

              The second floor of Malfoy Manor was planned to hold three guest rooms, one parlor with a bar, and a massive library for all of the tomes the Malfoys were allowed to keep after the war. The library was on the East side of the building and their first quarry.

              “I want it to feel cozy enough to actually read in,” Draco said as they walked the space. “The last one was honestly just a carbon copy of the Restricted Section at Hogwarts both in looks and in content. Wasn’t very welcoming for researching. I have a lot of medical scrolls I want to house here, and yes, I have considered and approved your request for a shelf of muggle books.”

              Harry was excited by the prospect of a library in the house where he lived. “Their fiction is ten times more creative than anything wizarding, I swear,” Harry said, feeling quite victorious that one of the most ancient families of wizardingkind was about to have a muggle section in their esteemed library. “They come up with the strangest things. Have you ever read Lord of the Rings?”

              “Lord of the what?”

              “They were also movies.”

              “Harry, you know I don’t want movies.”

              “You should,” Harry insisted. “Some of them are very good. One day I’ll get you to watch Star Wars.”

              “Is that the one with the silly color-coded outfits?” Draco asked idly as he tried to envision where he would put the couches he had planned for this room.

              “No, that’s Star Trek.”

              “Muggles and space, I swear.”

              “Okay, we’re getting distracted. We just need to pick a paint color for the walls. Journey of a thousand wallpaper-ings begins with a single step and all that,” Harry reminded him.

              Draco nodded. “Right. I was thinking an earthy green with brown molding. It would be nice to get some plant life in here with the large windows providing sunlight.”

              “That sounds perfect,” Harry agreed. “See? Not so hard.”

              “But the second I commit to a design I want a different one,” Draco huffed and threw his arms up. “Would it look better in a maroon with black paneling?”

              Harry cocked his head to the side trying to determine what would look better. “Let’s try the green first. We need to start working on something before I start to go stir-crazy from standing here staring at a blank wall arguing about it.”

              “Alright, green it is,” Draco sighed, less enthused about it than before. “Are you ready?”

              “Ready.”

              Draco lifted his wand and Harry mirrored the motion. Together they spoke the incantation and an earthen green paint began to ooze down the walls, covering every inch before perfectly stopping at the floor.

              Draco felt what he felt whenever he and Harry cast a spell together, unlimited power. If every wizard had a well of spellcasting energy, then Harry’s was the ocean. Unending.

              It was a simple wall-painting spell, for Merlin’s sake, and Draco was standing there like he’d seen benediction.

              “I like it,” Harry declared, looking around the room at their work completely oblivious to Draco’s amazement. “Now, if you really want some place cozy it needs carpeting. Should we do that next?”

              Draco, still reeling, was not sure if he was ready for what was going on the floor. This was why it was taking so long, this uncharacteristic indecision he felt towards these rooms. “I just—“ Draco stopped himself and shook his head.

              “What, what is it?” Harry asked, approaching him to place a hand on his shoulder. Draco was wearing an old Slytherin shirt that was soft to the touch and Harry gently ran his hands over the fabric thinking of how he’d seen him wear this when they were younger.

              “It’s nothing,” Draco sighed.

              “No, it’s clearly not nothing,” Harry pushed.

              “I just, I don’t know, this whole process makes me feel so nervous. It’s stupid, since my parents are never actually going to be able to see any of this, but I keep thinking of what my father would do.” Draco turned to Harry, leaning into his touch. “But this isn’t my father’s house. Not anymore. It’s mine, and I have to decide the kind of legacy I want to leave.”

              “And you think your legacy will be marred by what kind of flooring you pick out?” Harry asked carefully, hoping Draco knew how ridiculous that sounded.

              Draco shook his head. “I know, it’s stupid.”

              “Hey, I didn’t say that,” Harry said and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s not wrong to be nervous about what kind of mark you’re leaving on the world. I think the one you’ve left already is a positive one with all of the people you’ve healed.”

              “And you really think that can forgive all that came before?” Draco asked, voice quieter.

              Harry’s face turned to a frown. “Draco, you were a kid when all of that stuff happened to us. And I mean that, ‘happened to us’, because we sure as hell didn’t make it happen ourselves. Everything you’ve done as an adult, training for and getting a job at Mungo’s, that’s the life you’ve made happen. This whole house is what you’ve made happen. Every inch, every nail and floorboard is yours, and I happen to really like it.”

              Harry offered Draco a supportive smile and Draco couldn’t help but mirror it. “You like living here?” he questioned, the heart of his insecurity.

              “Draco, I love living here. I don’t care if the walls are polka-dot purple or what kind of flooring you’ve got, because all of it came from you. I like everything you do here because, well, you do it.”

              Draco’s heart seized in his chest to hear something so sweet that he was so sure he didn’t deserve. “Harry…”

              “Everything you’ve done so far looks great. The kitchen, my room, your room—you have good instincts for this kind of thing. Just trust your gut feeling, and this will go a lot faster. Now come on, Draco, what does your gut tell you about this carpeting?”

              “That is has to be soft,” Draco started. “And probably white. Anything darker and it would hide all kinds of stains and dust.”

              “There you go. White carpet it is.”

              “But what if—“

              “No, no ‘what ifs’. If you want to change it in the future you can, but right now you just need something on this blank canvas,” Harry insisted. “You can edit all you like later, but right now you have to make a base to work with.”

              “Why,” Draco sighed. “Is this so hard? Building a second floor, it’s maddening. I’ve got the beginning and the end of the house all worked out, but it’s this infuriating middle part I can’t seem to make any decisions on.”

              Harry stayed silent for a long moment, withdrawing his hand as he thought. “Draco,” he said. “I know it’s scary, but you can’t be afraid of failure. Hear me out,” he stopped Draco before he could interject with more whining. “You can’t be afraid of failure because failure isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning. If you make it and you don’t like it, you can always change it. You are so capable of change, Draco Malfoy, even when it’s scary.”

              The words washed over Draco like the comfort he didn’t know he needed. It was like feeling Harry’s magic without casting a spell.

              “Harry?”

              “Yes?”

              “Thank you.”

              “Now, are you ready to put down some white carpet?”

              “Yeah,” Draco said, giving him a nod. “I’m ready.”

*** *** ***

              “A little to the left… No, no, more to the right—there! That’s perfect.”

               Harry lowered his wand and the final armchair of the room was put in place. Empty shelves lined the walls and in the far corner Draco and Harry had set up a reading nook that looked as comfortable as it was homey.

              The shelves were made of light pine with carvings of ancient runes across the shelves spelling out rare incantations. Draco had taken Runes at Hogwarts and found himself fond of the cipher, even if Granger somehow had always outperformed him when it came to tests.

              But in the present Draco was pleased, and the room was done and ready to be stocked. “Thank you, Harry, I really couldn’t have done this without you. I was experiencing such a mental block with how this house is tied to my family and my sense of self.”

              “Hey, it’s the least I can do while you help me through my stuff,” Harry shrugged. “And this is great progress for one day. What do you say we pop a bottle of wine open and celebrate?”

              “That,” Draco said and pointed at Harry. “Is the best idea you’ve had all day.”

              Harry beamed. “You stay here, I’ll go get the wine.”

              Taking a lap around the room and its many empty shelves as he waited for Harry, Draco admired all of the hard work they’d put into this place. He would always remember it as the place where Harry helped him out of his indecision. A lot of things in this house were becoming associated with Harry, a prospect that was as exciting as it was scary.

              When Harry returned with a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two glasses Draco happily set them down on the pine table of the reading nook to pour out generous portions.

              “To the library,” Harry toasted from his armchair.

              “To the library,” Draco echoed from his armchair and they both drank deeply.

              Draco placed his glass down and turned his gaze from admiring the room to admiring Harry. He’d worn a simple long-sleeve shirt and shorts in case any paint had gotten on them. The way he was sitting in the armchair hiked his shorts up ever-so slightly to reveal a soft expanse of thigh.

              “You know what?” Draco spoke aloud after a moment of comfortable silence.

              “What?”

              “I’m going to shag you in every room of this house,” he informed him.

              Harry’s smile and blush broke out at once. “Well, we’ve already got the bedrooms down, the kitchen, your bathroom, the ballroom…”

              “Don’t forget the dining room.”

              “Ah,” Harry recalled with a loving sigh, melting back onto his chair. He could see that familiar twinkle in Draco’s eye and knew where this was going. “Yes, the dining room. I didn’t even know my legs could go back that far.”

              Draco hummed. “Mmm, so.” He uncrossed his legs. “What about that time in the library?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “What was that like for you?”

              Harry considered for a moment exactly how he’d like his evening to go. “Intense,” Harry answered, every hair on his arms prickling up under his shirt. “You were so rough with me. I loved every second of it.”

              A heavy breath left Draco’s lungs. How had he found someone so perfect for his every dark twist in him? “On your knees in front of me, now.”

              Slowly, Harry shifted off of the chair and onto the floor, onto his hands and knees. Head down, his shoulderblades showing through each slink of his body, Harry crawled his way over to Draco and posed on his knees in front of his armchair. “Yes, Daddy,” said Harry, resting his chin on Draco’s knee. “Whatever you say.”

              Draco ran a hand through Harry’s thick and wild hair, sighing softly at how familiar it felt to him now. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” he said with a small, smug grin. “You like it rough, pet?”

              Harry nodded against Draco’s knee, eyes wide behind his thick-rim glasses. “Only ever from you,” he whispered. “No one can make me feel like you do.”

              “No one? That’s high praise,” Draco said and scratched beneath Harry’s chin. “But it’s the truth, isn’t it—no one can make Harry Potter feel like I can.” He was high on that statement alone, wanting to repeat it to himself over and over until it was marked on his soul. “Undo my trousers.”

              Wasting no time at all Harry followed his orders with a smile on his face, unbuttoning and unzipping Draco’s trousers so he could pull them down to his knees.

              “Take off my pants, too, no half-measures tonight,” Draco commanded, voice firm and resolute.

              Harry took off Draco’s pants and saw him half-hard already. He licked his lips. “May I kiss it?” Harry requested it.

              Draco took a moment as if he were considering it. “Yes, you may.”

              With a deep breath of Draco’s musk Harry pressed his lips to the side of his cock.

              “You’re going to need to get it wetter than that, sweetheart,” Draco taunted him. “It’s going in your arse after all. Show me some proper respect.”

              “Yes, Daddy,” Harry spoke and let his tongue slide out against Draco’s engorged member. He licked it down and up all the way to the tip where he lightly teased in the slit. A rough hand found its way into Harry’s hair, pushing him down on Draco with a yank of his hair, and Harry moaned almost involuntarily. He loved how Draco pulled on his hair to get him to do what he wanted.

              It wasn’t anything like when Harry pulled out his hair, but maybe it was the same branch of feeling.

              Harry took Draco into his mouth, sucking down from the tip and along the shaft, taking deep breaths of Draco in through his nose.

              Draco tugged him down harder, pushing all of himself into his mouth, and Harry’s heart leapt at how rough the motion was, like he was just a toy to be used. He squirmed in his light blue panties in his shorts and Draco seemed to notice, chuckling to himself.

              “I can see you shaking your arse like you want it already,” Draco said in amusement. “Such a wanton thing you are, Harry Potter.” Draco pulled down on Harry’s hair so he could feel the tip of his cock on the back of his throat. “But I’m not through with this hole first. You said you wanted it ‘intense’, well, I can provide intense.”

              Harry made a guttural noise as the back of his throat connected with Draco, gagging and pulling back slightly only to have Draco pull him forward again onto it with his other hand.

              Both hands in Harry’s hair, Draco held him steady as he thrust up into the silken warmth of his throat. Harry was sputtering but still had both of his hands gripping Draco’s thighs tightly, silently willing him on. Were it ever to become too much, Harry knew all he needed to do was snap his fingers.

              Harry’s glasses were still on, fogged and askew as Draco fucked his face with no holding back. His own cock strained against his clothing, ridiculously turned on by Draco’s reckless abandon.

              “Yes,” Draco huffed, controlling Harry’s head to get the right angle for his thrusts every time. “You like choking on my cock?” Draco moved Harry’s head up and down in a ‘yes’ motion and Harry moaned in agreement. “That’s what I thought.” Draco pulled Harry off of him and grinned like a jackal to watch him pant and wheeze.

              Trying to catch his breath, Harry coughed slightly and couldn’t find words from his raw throat.

              “Open wide, you’re not done,” Draco informed him, dragging his head back down. Harry obediently opened his mouth to take Draco in again and focused on breathing through his nose as his mouth was used for Draco’s pleasure.

              Harry continued to deepthroat Draco with an unmatched dedication, gagging and having to slide back on occasion but otherwise taking it like a champion while Draco moaned something fierce.

              The next time Draco pulled Harry off of him Harry’s vision was blurry even behind his glasses but he could clearly see Draco’s teeth in his smile. “Darling,” said Draco, thumbing away some drool. “Undress. Now.” No one had to tell Harry twice. Discombobulated as he was as Draco released his grip, Harry tried to be mindful of the silver eyes on him with his every motion.

              Ridding himself of his clothes Harry was performing under Draco’s gaze, giving him a one-man show and feeling so, so wanted like never before. He took off the shirt slowly and the shorts fast to show his own arousal through his panties tent where he was generously leaking precome.

              Draco’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips. Harry was so beautiful, did this man know how beautiful he was? It occurred to Draco that he should probably say it more. “Such a pretty thing,” Draco lilted.

              “You think so?” Harry asked so genuinely it made Draco’s heart seize up in his chest.

              “Of course I do. Would I ever lie to you? Hell, would I ever even flatter you if I didn’t mean it?” Draco asked, deflecting from his true awe of Harry’s body.

              Harry cracked a crooked smirk. “You wouldn’t,” he answered because that was what he liked about Draco. For all of his exaggerations and eccentricities Draco Malfoy was not a people-pleaser, and meant what he said when he said it.

              Did Harry have to look so cute when they were roleplaying? Draco shifted in his chair, his cock not having flagged even slightly looking at Harry. “Now, off with the knickers, too.”

              “Yes, sir,” Harry replied in earnest, sliding them off as instructed. When he was done he sat back on his heels, resting on his knees with wide green eyes awaiting further instructions. Harry was hard and prepared to do whatever Draco asked to resolve that situation—considering how fun it was each time.

              “Come here,” Draco beckoned, extending a hand. Harry gently put his face in the hand so Draco could stroke him under the chin. “You know you’re Daddy’s favorite, right?”

              “Yes,” Harry answered almost shyly. “You show me every day.”

              “Such a good boy. Come closer, climb up on my lap.”

              Harry brought himself to his feet so he could put a knee on either side of Draco in the large, luxurious armchair. He sat down and felt Draco’s cock with a pleased shiver. “Like this?” he asked innocently.

              Draco fished his wand out of his discarded trousers and cast a spell to cover his hand in lubricant. “Something like that,” he grinned, trailing a finger down Harry’s cock and balls to reach back towards his hole. “But I’d like us to be even closer, wouldn’t you?” Draco eased in a finger and sighed at how warm he was.

              “Yes,” Harry breathed, eyelids fluttering behind his glasses. “I would.”

              Without warning Draco pushed in a second finger, making Harry’s toes splay out in surprise. Before Harry could properly adjust Draco pushed in a third and was met with a tight, involuntary clench. “Touchy, touchy. And here I thought you wanted it rough.”

              “I do,” Harry defended almost absurdly quickly. “I do, Daddy. Just—give me a second—“

              With a shiver down his body Harry pushed down on Draco’s fingers, lowering himself further on the armchair. “That’s my boy,” Draco soothed, running his free hand through Harry’s messy hair.

              Draco curled his fingers inside of Harry and watched as his face twisted with discomfort and delight all at once. “Ah, I, I—“

              “You what?” Draco asked like he couldn’t hear him, curling the fingers again. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

              “Ah, fuck you,” Harry laughed and received a spank for his insolence.

              “No, fuck _you_.” Draco spread his fingers out and watched Harry’s mouth form a perfect circle in a silent moan. “Don’t think I forgot about your little request.” Draco lined his cock up with the hole above him, pulling Harry closer on the armchair to get the angle right. “I’ve got a surprise for you once I’m in you.”

              That made Harry want it all the more. He shifted, trying to get as close to Draco as possible, practically sticking his chest in his face.

              “It’s to do with that pretty chest of yours,” Draco hummed, guiding Harry’s hole over him and easing in, fingers falling to the wayside. Each inch went in with a pleasant burn, Draco’s girth never failing to impress.

              Once both of Draco’s hands were free he gave Harry a clap on the arsecheeks just because he could. Much to Draco’s delight Harry yipped and clenched around him tighter. Not moving in him just yet, Draco considered it a kindness to let him get used to him while he took up his wand once more.

              Draco murmured a summoning spell and in his hand appeared two black devices that Harry had never seen before. “I picked these up at Pride awhile back,” Draco narrated, bringing them up to Harry’s level of vision. “Nipple clamps. You want intense? I’ll give it to you with these.”

              “I’ve never tried those before,” Harry admitted with a rushed excitement. His hips were swaying gently with Draco in them. “How do they work?”

              “You just leave that to me, precious. If they hurt too badly just say the word.”

              Harry nodded, hips wriggling on top of Draco.

              With the thumb and forefinger of one hand, Draco pinched Harry’s nipple a few times, pleased to see it perk up from the attention. “Such pretty tits,” Draco cooed as he readied an instrument with his other hand. “With this you’ll feel how much they bounce when I fuck you.”

              Draco opened the clamp wide with its rubber tips and pushed it onto the base of Harry’s nipple, slowly beginning to close it. “Oh,” said Harry in shock when the clamp closed all the way around him.

              “How does that feel?”

              “Good,” Harry answered. Sitting and warming Draco’s cock like this was making his own member twitch but now he was really throbbing with this pressure around the most sensitive part of his chest. It almost hurt, almost, but more than that it was so damn hot to look down at.

              “And now for the next one…” Draco pinched Harry’s other nipple, getting a stray moan to fall from his lips.

              Draco pulled Harry’s nipple forward and secured the clamp around the base of it, letting go only when he was sure it was in the right place. “Oh,” said Harry again, this time a deeper groan. No matter where or how he moved he couldn’t escape the tight, tight sensation around his nipples.

              Then Draco did something that sent Harry’s eyes rolling back into his head. Draco flicked a clamp, sending shocks all the way down to Harry’s cock.

              Now it was time to move.

              Draco started with a slow rock of his hips that built towards bigger motions, hips swirling in tandem with Harry’s. Before either quite knew it their bodies were slick with sweat and colliding with one another in fast, loud slaps.

              Harry’s moans carried over the armchair and into the cavernous library, empty of books for now but soon to be filled. “Draco,” Harry sputtered out when his cockhead hit his prostate like that. “Oh, Daddy, that’s so good.”

              With a grunt Draco slammed his hips up as hard as he could, watching the clamps bounce with his manipulations of Harry’s body. He could feel Harry tremoring, and looked up from his chest to his eyes to watch them blink away tears.

              “Are you—?”

              “Don’t stop,” Harry begged. He needed this repetitive, almost painful stretching more than ever. His chest being clamped only added to the experience, amplifying the sensation of his lower half. He was blushing around the hot tears falling, hoping not to be judged or worse, for Draco to stop. Sometimes Harry had cried when he masturbated, but he didn’t do that anymore, not when Draco controlled his every orgasm. “It’s good, it’s so good.”

              “So good you’re moved to tears, huh, pet?” Draco teased lightly, wanting to talk about it rather than ignore it. Crying during sex was completely natural, especially when submitting, and he wanted to make sure Harry was doing it for the right reasons.

              “The clamps,” Harry rasped, throat still raw as he bobbed on Draco’s lap.

              “They hurt, don’t they?” Draco grinned, gently pulling on one amidst his thrusts and pulling a deafening groan from the back of Harry’s throat. “But you like that sort of thing, don’t you?”

              “Yes,” Harry admitted, voice climbing in pitch. Combined with the shaking of his thighs he could feel himself getting close to the edge, though holding back because he hadn’t been given permission yet. “I love it—!”

              “Painslut,” Draco accused, nails digging into Harry’s hips as he fucked him. “I bet I won’t even have to touch that cock of yours to make you come.”

              All Harry could do to keep it together was screw his eyes shut and groan. More tears fell, leaving him feeling vulnerable and almost embarrassed, but that somehow only added to his arousal. “Please,” Harry whimpered out, hoping Draco knew what he meant.

              “’Please’ what? Use your words, whore.” Draco pulled on a clamp and felt Harry’s whole body react with a jolt.

              “Please let me come,” Harry begged through the pressure. “Oh, please, Daddy.” He’d been hard since Draco had used his throat, and every second in his lap drove Harry further and further away from any semblance of control.

              Draco honestly wished he could send images back in time because if he’d been able to see this—this promise of Harry Potter, simpering and whimpering for an orgasm with his pretty pink nipples all bound—this alone could have gotten him through a war.

              “Please!” Harry cried out while Draco was waxing poetic in his head about how their rivalry had brought them to this.

              Draco huffed slightly, picking up the pace and pushing into Harry with a singular purpose. “Not yet,” he warned. “Be a good slut.”

              “I’m trying, I am—“

              “Try harder.” Draco gave his arse a firm slap, which was likely more reward than punishment at this point, but the two were interchangeable at the best of times. “Hold it in, and don’t you dare release until I tell you to.”

              Harry let out a pathetic sob and did as he was told, body tensing and shaking with the effort.

              “Not yet,” Draco taunted with his thrusts in spite of how close he too was getting. “Not yet, not yet, not yet.”

              Noises that Harry didn’t even know he was capable of were coming out of him, caught between sobs and cries of passion. “P-please,” he said, voice utterly wrecked.

              With a plea like that gracing his ears Draco could hardly hold back himself. “Now,” he commanded, and almost instantaneously he felt the warm splash of come on his stomach. The sticky sensation was exactly what he was after, his own peak hitting on the next thrust in.

              Harry, finally given his reprieve, felt the tears come on even stronger. “Daddy,” he gasped, holding him so tightly it hurt. “Fuck, _Draco_ …”

              Hearing his name said like that made Draco shiver even amidst his aftershocks. Their hips came to a stop, both men panting heavily from the effort.

              A devious thought entered Draco’s mind and he couldn’t resist acting it out. He reached forward and tugged on both nipple clamps once more before pressing down to open them once again, removing them from Harry’s chest without warning.

              Harry could do nothing but cry out, leaking dribbles of come from his untouched cock.

              “Good boy,” Draco soothed, hands moving up to gently rub his nipples. “Who’s my good boy? Come on, tell me.”

              “I am,” Harry shivered, the last of his tears drying. “I’m your good boy.”

              “You did ask for ‘intense’,” Draco reminded him.

              A little laugh left Harry. “That I did. You always deliver.” He reached up and wiped the wetness away behind his glasses, fixing them from being askew. “Fuck, that was incredible.”

              “Not too much?” Draco asked with genuine concern, reaching up to wipe a tear from Harry’s clean-shaven chin.

              “Never too much,” Harry replied shakily. The feeling of Draco softening inside of him was so intimate he hoped Draco never pulled him off of his lap. Harry never wanted this moment to end, all bleary and hazy in their post-coital bliss. “Just right.”

              Pride came over Draco, and not just the kind he had for loving men. He was proud of himself, proud of Harry for taking everything he’d dished out so well. “Good,” Draco replied, fixing Harry’s hair as much as he could before resting his hands on Harry’s hips. “You did so well. Never be afraid to cry in front of me.”

              “Never,” Harry responded, blissed out beyond belief.

              Unfortunately they had to separate at some point, Draco sliding himself out of Harry and observing the white trail he’d left in him with a smug smile. “Now, what do you say we wash up? Your bathroom, or mine?”

              “Yours,” Harry answered, grip loosening slightly to look over his shoulders. “Draco?”

              “Yes?”

              “I think this room looks great.”

              Draco’s smile doubled in size. “Yeah? Well, we’ve got a whole second floor to build, and I’ll need that input for the whole thing.”

              “I know exactly what ‘input’ you’re after,” Harry chuckled. “But yes, Daddy, I would love to.”

              “Good, good. Now let’s clean up—I have more in store for you tonight.”

*** *** ***

              Draco fixed his tie in the mirror, frowning slightly. Something was off about it, and that simply wouldn’t do. It wasn’t just Draco’s normal perfectionism this time around, but instead the concern that he had to present himself a certain way to his lover’s best friends.

              He had to present himself as harmless but not spineless, and proper but not snobbish. It would be a bit like walking a social tightrope and Draco wasn’t looking forward to the effort that would take.

              Granger had insisted the meetup be in a neutral location which he could hardly blame her for, what with the history she had with the Manor, and that meant Draco taking the future Granger-Weasleys out somewhere delicious and most importantly muggle.

              Draco had a lot to prove when it came to displaying he was no longer a bigot. He had a lot to prove, period, and hoped he’d be given a chance to.

              “Here, let me,” said Harry when he saw Draco worrying at his tie like that. He stepped in front of the mirror, blocking Draco’s view of himself while he undid and retied the Windsor knot. Draco peeked up over Harry’s shoulder to get a better look at his face, making sure it was all clear of products he’d used to get ready.

              “You look great,” Harry reinforced.

              “Thank you,” Draco sighed, still not really content with his outfit—a black jacket with gold and silver trim along the seams and down the sides of the matching trousers. His tie was at least looking better now. “You look great too, you know.”

              Harry did a little spin to give Draco a full view of the outfit. The suitjacket was red with black accents and lapels and trousers, no tie but a black ribbon made into a loose bow over a white shirt finishing off the look.

              “I feel good about tonight,” Harry said, hoping some of his optimism would rub off on his partner. “How are you feeling?”

              There was no point in lying, Draco supposed. “Nervous,” he admitted. “I did sort of torture you three in school.”

              “And now the only one you torture is me,” Harry reminded him cheerfully with a clap on the back. He rubbed his shoulder and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Just, uh, maybe don’t mention anything about that tonight.”

              “I wasn’t planning on regaling your friends with the details of our sex life, no,” Draco chuckled, leaning into Harry’s kiss. “I am trying to gain their favor after all, not lose what little of it you’ve gained for me.”

              Harry took Draco by the hand and brought it up to his lips so he could kiss every knuckle. “You are going to be just fine,” he insisted. “Once they really get to know you they’ll like you,”

              “I am aiming to at least be tolerated and not have my home broken into again,” Draco snarked but stopped himself. “I won’t bring that up if they don’t, by the way.”

              “Thank you,” Harry said pointedly. “I’m relying on you to try and diffuse tensions here, not raise them. Please.”

              “You will have nothing to worry about from me,” Draco assured him, splaying his fingers out slightly in the grip of their hands. “I’ll be on my best behavior, show you how I can be a good boy, too.”

              “Then maybe I’ll show you how rewarding I can be,” Harry volleyed right back.

              “I’m looking forward to getting home tonight for more than just being done with this meal, then.” Draco slid an arm around Harry’s waist and gave it a squeeze, turning from the mirror entirely in favor or looking at his Harry head-to-toe.

              “Easy, Daddy,” Harry grinned, putting a hand on Draco’s chest. “We should get going, I want to be the first ones there.”

              When they arrived at the restaurant they were indeed the first ones there, the establishment bustling with activity this fine Saturday evening. It was a Mediterranean place with an expansive menu that gave everyone lots of choices and a calm atmosphere.

“Reservation under Malfoy,” Draco told the maître-d, a sharp-dressed man who led Draco and Harry to a table with two chairs on each side.

“Here is your table, sirs.”

              Draco pulled out a chair for Harry and the man murmured his thanks as he sat down in it. “Such a gentleman,” Harry said with a grin.

              “Only for you, my sweet,” Draco replied airily, taking the seat next to Harry and sitting down. Even though they had to share the table with two others this was a great date spot, and admittedly Draco Malfoy’s first double-date if it was to be viewed that way. “Should we start with a red or a white?” He opened the menu and turned first to the drinks.

              “Red sounds good. Hermione likes red.”

              “Red it is, then.” Draco called over their server and placed the order for an expensive vintage. It made no sense to start sparing expenses now when he had people to impress.

              “And extra bread,” Harry slipped in to the server. “Ron likes bread,” he confirmed aside to Draco.

              Why did Draco have the terrible feeling this was going to be a long night until his reward? The sinking sensation in his chest became nigh unbearable when he actually laid eyes on the other couple that was meeting them there tonight.

              Led through the crowd of tables by a waitress were Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, both dressed for the occasion. They didn’t clean up terribly, either. Hermione was in a blazer and loose dress while Ron had on a crisp button-down paired with khaki trousers.

              “Hullo,” Ron greeted with a wave before pulling out a chair for Hermione as Draco had done for Harry. “Good to see you, Harry.” And he meant that, because Harry was positively glowing like he’d been back at his apartment over the Picadillo. Fully alert, fully showered and dressed—it was practically a miracle.

              “Hey, Ron, hey, Hermione. Really good to see you, too,” said Harry as he adjusted himself in his chair, trying to find a comfortable sitting position for the night. That was easier said than done with how much Harry liked to be spanked in his free time. “Welcome, please, sit.”

              “Harry,” Hermione greeted him warmly. “Malfoy.” All the warmth in her voice left to reveal a chilly undertone when it came to Draco’s name. Unlike Ron with his break-in to the Manor this was Hermione’s first time seeing Draco since the War trials.

              “Please,” Draco said, trying his best to ignore the ice in her voice. “You can just call me ‘Draco’, if I’m permitted the same pleasure with your first names.”

              Hermione pursed her lips for a moment. “Sure, Draco,” she tried. He hadn’t said anything objectionable or bigoted yet, but she was expecting him to and didn’t think this tenuous peace would last long. “Harry,” she refocused. “How have you been?”

              “I’ve been great. Been really looking forward to tonight,” Harry said as his silent plea for nobody to mess this up, a message received by all three at the table who knew him well enough by now to know what he meant. “And we’ve been hard at work with the Manor. Just finished up the library last week.”

              Harry’s strategic mentioning of a library caught Hermione off-guard. She raised a brow in interest. “The library?”

              “We’ve moved all of the tomes and scrolls in,” Draco nodded, breaking off some bread for himself while Ron quickly claimed a piece of his own. “And we’re building up the muggle section with what Harry says are classics. I honestly wouldn’t know—I was never permitted to read muggle books as a child. Apparently I have a lot of catching up to do.”

              “Draco’s starting with some Mary Shelley,” bragged Harry of his pureblood boyfriend defying his upbringing. “We read it before bed most nights.” Meaning Draco read aloud to Harry after raucous sex to tuck him in, but Harry wasn’t technically lying by omitting that.

              Hermione had not been expecting this. She still found it strange to hear about Draco and Harry living together so soon in a relationship, but even stranger was the thought of Draco Malfoy willingly reading and enjoying muggle books. “Oh?” was all she could say.

              “You really ought to come see the Manor sometime,” Harry offered. “I think you’d really like it. Draco’s ace with figuring out interior decorating stuff, so it’s all really beautiful. I’ve been working on a greenhouse for the outside to start making that beautiful, too.”

              Draco hid his smile behind his bread.

              “Perhaps,” Hermione said, still not sure she ever wanted to step foot in Wiltshire again, let alone Malfoy Manor no matter how different it was or how many muggle books it stocked. Still, it was nice to hear Draco was trying.

              “And what have you been up to?” Draco asked of the couple before him.

              “Work,” Ron shrugged as he flipped through the menu. “Work and wedding stuff, mostly. We have most of it figured out but it’s like there’s always something new—new guests, new traditions my parents want to include.”

              “Where is it to be held?” Draco asked conversationally.

              “The Burrow. My brothers had theirs there and it just feels right to us,” Ron explained. “Bill and Fleur, George and Angelina. Percy did it in a church but had a reception at the Burrow.”

              Draco had almost forgotten about the other Weasley siblings who weren’t Harry’s best friend or his old beard. It really had been a long time. He remembered getting pranked by the twins—oh, best not say the ‘t’ word, yikes—and remembered how the Dark Lord had crashed Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

              There was another one, wasn’t there? One who liked dragons? It was hard keeping track of all the redhead spawn around Hogwarts.

              “Charming,” Draco nodded hoarsely. He hoped they knew he meant it. He’d made fun of that little hovel plenty of times in their childhood but as an adult he could see it for what it was—a house of people who loved each other deeply just like his parents loved him. He felt ashamed for ever having taunted Ron about it.

              Guilt, shame, everything Draco felt when he looked at his left forearm—now empty but still pulsing with the reminder of what he’d done—was getting the better of him. He thanked the waitress perhaps too profusely when she brought the red wine he’d requested and drank deep once it was poured.

              Harry stopped mid-bite into his bread with a realization of his own when the wine came. Fuck, the wedding really was coming up, wasn’t it?

              Hermione noticed how he gave pause. “What is it?”

              Harry swallowed his bread. “Well. I don’t want to spring another surprise on you,” he said carefully once the waitress was gone.

              “Something more surprising than this?” Ron asked, deadpan indicating between Draco and Harry. Draco laughed at that when Ron didn’t expect him to.

              “Well, it is this. I mean, him,” Harry confirmed. Draco raised a brow. “Would it be too late to add a plus one?”

              “Oh,” said Hermione.

              “Oh,” said Draco.

              “I mean,” Harry quickly course-corrected. Had he just gotten himself in trouble with his boyfriend and his best friends at once? New record. “Only if you wanted to, Draco. And only if I could, Hermione, Ron.”

              Draco decided it best to make his position clear early on and as neutrally as possible. “If Ron and Hermione could make room, I would be honored to, I mean that. But I also understand if you simply can’t because, well, when I get married, I’d be furious if someone brought in another plus-one just a few months away.” He gave Harry a pointed look.

              Hermione allowed herself to laugh a little at that, the thought of Bridezilla Malfoy, or Draco as she was supposed to call him now. Just when she thought her thirties were going to be less bizarre than her twenties... Things really only did get weirder with time. “We’re having a buffet, it’s really not a big deal to get another chair. Right, Ron?” she said, putting her hand in Ron’s lap.

              “Yeah, I said early on you should bring a date. Bit unexpected who you chose, but sure, Harry,” Ron gave his blessing once he saw Hermione was fine with it.

              Harry let out a breath of relief. He really wasn’t sure how that would go. “Thanks,” Harry said. “Really, thanks.”

              “You’re really okay with it?” Draco pressed. “I love weddings; I happen to think they’re one of the most important events in a person’s life. Are you positive you want me there at yours?”

              Hermione cracked a smile that Draco had never seen before—a genuine one. “I appreciate the concern, I do. I’m positive, yes, because it seems Harry is,” she answered honestly. “And I have to tell you that if you hurt him in any way—cheat on him, do him wrong—I will see your end, Draco Malfoy.”

              “I don’t doubt that. You’ve got a mean right hook, Hermione, and I wouldn’t want to meet it again,” Draco lifted his glass as if to toast it and drank more.

              Ron, Harry, and Hermione all laughed at that, a new and strange sound for Draco to hear all at once.

              “And don’t you forget it,” Hermione chuckled, finally allowing herself to try a taste of the drink before them. “Mmm. Excellent choice in wine.”

              “Harry tipped me off,” Draco admitted. “Might I also recommended the goat here—it’s quite juicy.”

              “So you’ve been here before?” Hermione questioned.

              “Yes, I’ve been with colleagues a few times,” Draco answered, closing his menu as he knew what he was getting. “I’m not particularly close with any of the other Healers but we do get drinks or dinner now and again.” And he’d taken some past dates here, but there was no need to mention that.

              “You dine at muggle restaurants? Read muggle books? I’m surprised, I really am,” Hermione observed approvingly. “Even before Harry?”

              “Even before Harry,” Draco confirmed. “He has promised to show me several movies as my introduction to film, though. One of the parlors on the second floor will have a television set.” When it was their floor to build, why not?

              “Wow, a television in Malfoy Manor,” Ron tried to imagine. He knew the place looked different now but seeing any digital screen around even the amorphous new Manor in his mind seemed out of place.

              “Almost as strange as a Potter in Malfoy Manor, almost,” Harry nodded and everyone smiled, about to continue on in conversation when the waitress appeared.

              She took their orders and Hermione went with the goat as Draco had suggested.

              With the promise of more food coming and his fiancée seeming to warm up a bit, Ron was extra chipper. How could he not be when this was the happiest he’d seen Harry in a long time? “So, Draco,” Ron said. “I feel like I barely know the guy dating my best mate. Tell me stuff—what’s it like working at the hospital?”

              “It’s hard work, and often messy, but I love it,” Draco confirmed. “Before Harry I spent perhaps too much time there, but now I’ve got a nice balance between work and life at home.” Having Harry to come home to made all the difference. “I have a roster of regular patients who come to me for all their ailments and I know them well. I do get new patients from time to time as well, and some emergency cases. It depends on how short-staffed we are that day.”

              “I know all about being short-staffed,” Hermione nodded. “My position in the Ministry is to assist those underrepresented by magical law and establish protections for them. It’s working within existing systems that are flawed, but we get as much good done as we can.”

              That sounded exactly like the sort of thing Hermione Granger would be best at. “Just like your whole PUKE club back in school,” Draco recalled.

              Hermione rolled her eyes. “It was ‘SPEW’, and it still exists today at Hogwarts, you know.”

              Draco hadn’t left any mark on Hogwarts so lasting, or at least not a positive one. “Wow, really? I have to admit I haven’t kept up with what happens at our old Alma Mater.” He knew McGonagall was Headmistress now but that was about it.

              The castle held so many conflicting memories for him. The saddest, the most scared he’d ever been was in his four-poster bed in the Slytherin boy’s dorm, but some of his happiest memories were there too.

              “I occasionally visit the professors when time allows, and still make use of their library. I have to admit I’m interested in what is in the Malfoy library beyond the new additions as well,” said Hermione.

              “You’re welcome to visit any time,” Draco invited her. “The Manor is far from complete, so you’ll have to excuse the construction, but if you need anything from my library you’re more than welcome to it. We have some collections that have been in the family since, well, always.”

              “Nothing like old books to get Hermione excited. Probably should have led with that one,” Ron joked with Draco. They were still feeling out each other’s sense of humor but Ron was finding Draco’s to be very similar to Harry’s sardonic nature. Perhaps this was why they worked.

              They did work, was the crazy thing. Looking between them now Ron could see every little look they exchanged, how in sync they were with each other. It was mad, and sort of brilliant.

              “Really, you’re welcome any time,” Harry insisted. “Just owl me whenever you want to come take a look.”

              The waitress returned with their dishes, laying each out in front of them full of tantalizing meats in generous spreads. Draco was half-shocked Hermione wasn’t a vegetarian with her bleeding heart but kept his snide comments to himself.

              Everyone dug in, leaving some dead air on the table that made Harry shift in his seat. He knew it wasn’t natural to talk the entire time, but he was still feeling the pressure of hoping everyone got along.

              “So,” Harry said to chase away the silence once he swallowed.

              “So Draco,” Ron continued in his line of questioning he hoped didn’t look too much like a line of questioning. “How are your parents?”

              Draco faltered slightly at the mention of them and on instinct he wanted to block the question with another question. But if real trust was to be had here, then Draco couldn’t rely on impulse alone. “They are well,” he began. “As you likely know, they are still under house arrest in the France Estate. They keep to themselves, follow all the rules outlined for them in the trial. Mother’s taken up painting and baking.”

              “Do they… know?” Ron pressed.

              “They know I won’t be marrying a woman or producing pureblood heirs, if that’s what you mean,” Draco replied. “And soon enough they’ll know about Harry.”

              “How soon?” asked Hermione. “They don’t know he’s living in the Manor?”

              “They don’t know much about my personal life. Mother asks, but I don’t reveal much. I visit the about once a month and we mostly talk about progress on the Manor.” Draco was due for a visit but insisted he was busy with work in all his owls. He could only push off the meeting about a week more before it upset them, so a week more it was.

              The frown Harry had on since the mention of Lucius and Narcissa deepened. The last thing he wanted was to pressure Draco into telling them, or worse, have Ron and Hermione pressure Draco into telling them. “It’s alright,” Harry said quickly. “That’s why we want to keep it out of the papers, of course. To give Draco time."

              “I am going to have to tell them soon,” Draco said softly as if he hadn’t heard Harry at all. “And I will.” He looked up like it was a promise to Ron and Hermione more than Harry, exactly what Harry had been afraid of.

              “I mean, you don’t, it’s okay,” Harry stumbled over his words.

              Draco turned to him and gave him a soft smile that made Harry’s heart stop. “No, I do,” said Draco. “And I will.”

              Harry’s frown turned up into a smile. “Okay,” he said, and found Draco’s hand under the tablecloth.

              “As, uh, nice as that all is,” Ron interjected. “Will Harry be safe when you tell your parents?”

              “’Safe’? They wouldn’t risk leaving the France Estate and throwing away years of good behavior over this,” Draco said firmly. He didn’t like what Ron was implying but could hardly blame him for being worried for Harry’s safety. “Harry and I will be just fine, thank you.”

              Ron was a watchdog at heart, an Auror with a heart forged of sterner stuff than most. He wouldn’t put it past Lucius, the willing Death Eater of the family, to try and get someone on the outside to hurt Harry for this.

              Harry was giving him a look for being so callous but Ron couldn’t help it these days. He’d seen dark wizards do terrible things in the War and terrible things after it.

              “Anyway,” Harry cut through the tension. “How are your parents, Ron?”

              “Oh, they’re lovely. Mum is always asking after you, and Dad has taken to video games. You ought to come visit them sometime. I think they’d like to hear about all the developments in your life,” Ron motioned to Draco.

              Draco tensed. Would the Weasleys be accepting?

              Harry relaxed, knowing they would be. Molly and Arthur just wanted to see Harry happy, he knew that. They’d get over the shock just like Ron and Hermione did, maybe even easier than Ron and Hermione did. “Yeah, that’d be nice,” Harry admitted. “I’ve been avoiding it because, well, I’ve been depressed, but things are looking up. I’ll owl them tomorrow about it.”

              Hermione was glad to hear Harry speak aloud the presence of his depression, so it was no longer just the ignored elephant in the room. “You’ve been feeling better?” Hermione asked carefully.

              “And I owe it all to Draco,” he declared with confidence.

              That worried both Hermione and Draco.

              “That’s hardly true,” Draco pushed back gently. “I am glad I can help, but I would argue it’s your own strength you owe it to. I like to bring out the best in you because I know you’re capable of the best, but you owe me nothing.”

              Harry wanted to argue that he owed Draco the world but he could see where he was coming from. It wasn’t healthy to pin all of one’s hopes and dreams of happiness on one person, but Draco just made it so easy to do when he was the world’s greatest sugar Daddy.

              “While I am his partner first,” Draco continued. “I also consider myself a consulting physician on Harry here’s health. I can speak to my teaching him coping mechanisms and giving him alleys in which to be successful and free, but I am not the font of this newfound happiness. It is all in you, Harry. It always has been.”

              Harry gave Draco a wobbly smile. He’d never heard anything so sweet about himself in his entire life. “Thanks, Da—Draco.” Harry went red after correcting himself.

              Hermione and Ron thankfully didn’t think much of the correction.

              Conversation continued, staying away from controversial topics like unapproving parents or future admissions this time.

              There was a humming in the back of Harry’s mind for the rest of the meal, though. At first it was too quiet and obtuse to understand, a feeling with no shape, a thought with no words. It was a burning truth crawling up his throat, a realization he couldn’t stop having once it dawned upon him. Looking between Draco and Hermione and Ron, Harry realized the most important people in the world to him were all at this table.

              At this table, getting along, were the two sides of Harry’s life he’d longed to join—family and partnership. Camaraderie, and love.

              That last word echoed in his mind like a struck gong. Love, love, love, love.

              Harry looked at Draco and he saw love. He felt love; he could hardly get enough of it. He loved this man, and there was nothing in the world that could change that.

              He held onto this love, these three words he wished to say, and tucked them away in his heart for another time. For now Harry didn’t need to say anything at all, didn’t need to know if Draco felt the same way back. For now Harry could just be in love and cherish every second of it, and cherish all they’d built together.

 

 


	13. Happy Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re all enjoying this as much as I am! I promise to keep updating, I promise I have an ending in mind for this one and it’s a long ways away. This one is for Nessa, and they know why. I love you, Valentine.

              Lazy Sunday mornings in Malfoy Manor were rapidly becoming Harry Potter’s favorite thing.

              “Hey,” he murmured, lips pressed to Draco’s chin covered in platinum stubble. It was rare that Harry got to see him so disheveled. After a night of copious shagging, though, Draco just couldn’t be arsed to get up and shave quite yet. “What’s on your mind?”

              Draco looked down at Harry with a tight smile. His left leg ached from how it had shaken the other night. “On my mind…” Draco mused for a moment, all tangled up in his sheets with Harry. “Well. I’m thinking of work, because I always do when I get anxious about something else. It’s a place of control.”

              “Draco Malfoy likes control,” Harry said, pretending to be surprised. “I really ought to be taking notes here lest I forget that one.”

              Draco snorted and gave Harry’s arse a pinch.

              “Hey!” Harry laughed, curling his leg around Draco’s even closer.

              “As if you don’t love it.”

              “I do, I do,” Harry had to admit. He nuzzled his nose against Draco’s jawline. “I can understand why you’re anxious, Draco. I mean, I can’t really, but you know what I mean. It’s understandable, to be nervous. You still don’t have to—“

              “Ah, but I’m going to,” Draco interjected.

              Harry brought his hand up to stroke Draco’s cheek. “Right.” He shifted so he could look Draco in the eye. “But you don’t _have_ to.”

              “But I want to tell them,” Draco had to admit. “For more than it just being a gesture to show you how seriously I take our arrangement. I want to tell my parents about us because I want them to know someone important is in my life. I’ve told them about boyfriends before, you know. It’s just the ‘who’ of the matter that’s going to shock them.”

              “How will you be telling them we reconnected?”” Harry asked curiously.

              Draco paused to weigh his options. “I could tell them we met again in that bar we went to and it wouldn’t technically be a lie.” It wasn’t as if Draco could say he was searching for sugarbabies to fill the Manor up with and Harry just happened to be the perfect submissive for the job. “I was sitting at the bar when who approaches me but Harry Potter.”

              Harry nodded. That sounded reasonable, and not mortifying.

              “You really had some balls to do that,” Draco recalled fondly.

              Harry checked under the covers. “Believe it or not, I still have them on me,” he joked, earning a little giggle from Draco that lit up his heart. It had been a week since the double date with Ron and Hermione, a week of Harry keeping his love close to his chest.

              Every time he tried to confess it the words stopped flowing. His mouth went dry and his throat scratchy, and he backed down from admitting how he truly felt each time. A mad, feral part of him wanted to just shout it out now, but that wasn’t the way he wanted Draco to first hear that he loved him. Regardless of whether Draco loved him back, Harry wanted his confession to be in a moment of mutual admiration.

              They had had several such moments but Harry’s voice failed him each time. Maybe he needed some of that reckless confidence he’d had when he approached Draco at the bar knowing he was ‘Daddy D’.

              “As much as I would like to lie with you here all day,” Draco started, looking over to the clock on the bedside table. “My parents will be expecting me soon—clothed.”

              “Oh, what a shame,” Harry sighed and pulled away from Draco’s warmth in spite of himself. The last thing Draco needed was the added pressure and the heat of being late to tea with his parents.

              “What will you be up to while I’m gone?” Draco asked as he got up, a small nudge of encouragement towards Harry doing something productive.

              “The greenhouse is nearly finished, so I may cross that one off the list today. Then we can start moving in and growing plants for the rest of the garden.” Harry watched as Draco stood, naked as the day he was born, and padded over to the bathroom.

              In the bathroom mirror Draco wore a frown to see himself so unshaven. He immediately waved his wand to bring the razor and cream out of the drawer and dancing into his hands. He applied the foamy white mixture generously to his face and went in with the multi-blade tool, shaving off the peach fuzz in favor of a cleaner look. “That’s wonderful, Harry,” Draco said and meant it. “You really have come far.”

              “I’m more motivated these days,” Harry had to admit. “I feel… good?”

              “You sound doubtful,” Draco pointed out, turning on the faucet and washing the remaining shaving cream off.

              Harry laughed and sat up in the bed, elbows resting on his knees. “I feel like I’m going to jinx it if I admit how good I really feel,” he elaborated for Draco, still caught up in his sheets. They smelled like him, and that made it hard to leave them.

              Draco patted his face dry with a towel and turned around so he could face Harry through the open bathroom door. “No such thing, Harry. On the contrary I like to hear when I’m making you happy.”

              “You always do,” Harry replied, so lovesick he couldn’t even be embarrassed about it.

              Draco smiled. “You are simply the sweetest man I know, do you know that, Harry Potter?” He leaned against the bathroom counter to stare at Harry a moment longer before turning to brush his teeth.

              Then it was Harry’s turn to smile. “I can’t say I know it, but I like to hear it,” he settled on, playing with the hem of the sheets.

              “Then I will have to say it more often,” Draco decided after placing his toothbrush back in the holder. Next to it was Harry’s toothbrush, and Draco tried not to think of what a sod he was for thinking it to be intimate.

              Draco fussed with his hair for a few more minutes and then stepped out of the bathroom towards the closet. By the time he re-entered the bedroom Harry was already up and putting on pants. “Have an outfit all picked out?” Harry guessed.

              “As a matter of fact I do,” Draco replied and produced a deep blue suit with a black turtleneck to go underneath. “One can never be sloppy when arriving for tea with the Malfoys.”

              “I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry chuckled, still searching for a shirt for himself to get some work done in.

              Once they were both fully clothed and Draco had adjusted himself for the last time in the mirror he turned around with arms outspread. “Come here, pet. Give Daddy a hug before he leaves.”

              A small twinge of arousal spiked in Harry to hear Draco call himself that. It was amazing what one word could do to Harry. He stepped into Draco’s arms and tightly wrapped his own around Draco’s waist.

              “I’ll be back before you know it,” Draco assured Harry and himself in one go, patting Harry’s back.

              “Maybe by the time you come back I’ll have started moving plants into the greenhouse,” Harry suggested. He wanted Draco to come home to his success, wanted to see that smile of his and hear how proud he made him. It was addictive, all this praise and lavishment, and now Harry scarcely believed he could survive without it.

              Draco gave him a kiss on both cheeks. “No matter what your progress I’ll be happy. Now, I must be off.” He brought their lips together and savored their union.

              “Bye, Daddy.”

              “Goodbye, sweetling.”

              The trip through the floo was an uneventful one, with Draco ending up going from one opulent house to another albeit more finished one.

              Draco stepped onto the marble floor in front of the France Malfoy Estate’s fireplace and adjusted his lapels. “Mother?” he called into the seemingly empty home.

              Sunshine streamed in through open windows elegant enough to make him almost forget what a gilded cage this was.

              “In here, dear,” came Narcissa’s voice from down the hall, though she didn’t stay there long. The second she heard her boy’s voice she was click-clacking in her heels down the hall to get to him and embrace him in a motherly hug. She smelled of jasmine, as she always did. “Oh, look at you, so handsome.”

              “Thanks, mum,” said Draco.

              Not far behind the clicking of heels was the sound of boots—black boots, always black—coming the same way.

              Draco stood face-to-face with his father, nearly as tall as him now. “Father,” he greeted him with a nod. “You look well.”

              “As do you, son,” spoke Lucius, voice deep and commanding even when he wasn’t saying anything too important. He had the kind of voice that people listened to, and back in the day used to respect above all. “Come, we’ll be having tea in the sitting room.”

              Nodding, Draco released himself from his mother’s grip and followed his father down the hall. The sitting room was a pastel palette of florals on the cushions with milky white walls and carpet. It felt like being inside a cream puff, a feeling Draco didn’t entirely hate. It was better than the old Manor, all dark and gloomy even at the best of times.

              The Malfoy ancestor who had built the Wiltshire Manor was farther back in the lineage than the one who built the France Estate, and it showed in the more modern use of whites and muted colors here.

              Draco sat on the couch opposite from where his parents sat, waiting patiently as his mother waved her wand so the tea would pour itself out for everyone. When his cup was full Draco took it in two hands and drank deep.

              “Mmm, Bergamot.”

              “Grown in the back, of course,” his mother added.

              Draco expected nothing less of his mother’s taste in tea. She was an Englishwoman at heart no matter how the Ministry exiled her. “It’s delicious.”

              Lucius sipped from his cup before cutting to what was really on his mind. “So, how goes work on the Manor?” This was Lucius testing the waters.

              Draco perked up rather than shied away from this question, something Lucius had not expected. “It goes well, actually,” Draco was able to answer. “The second floor is coming along nicely. We just finished the library and one of the sitting rooms, and the Greenhouse is almost built so we can start raising plants for the gardens.”

              “That’s—that’s fantastic,” stuttered Lucius. “Truly. The tomes can be moved in, now?”

              “All of them,” Draco confirmed proudly.

              “I can arrange for the ones kept here to be owled over,” Lucius said. He hadn’t been expecting such progress when Draco usually dodged the questions about construction. “I shall then, I suppose.”

              Narcissa was oddly quiet. Draco looked at his mother and saw her smiling almost… wickedly? There was something dangerous in her eyes.

              “Isn’t it fantastic, mother?” Draco asked, itching the back of his turtleneck.

              “It is simply fantastic. Only… You said something interesting, Draco,” his mother pointed out, eyes brighter than ever. “You said ‘we’. ‘We’ just finished the library and ‘we’ can start raising plants.”

              The younger man’s face went pale. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to hide it for long, but had he given himself up already? Draco, wounded, wondered if he was losing his edge or if his mother was just that damn good.

              “Royal ‘we’ exists in this scenario,” Draco defended with a falter in his voice. Dammit.

              “I thought you banned your friends from helping you with the Manor since the incident with Blaise Zabini and the plumbing,” Lucius remarked. He sipped his tea, wondering which friend had been allowed back on the project.

              “Well,” said Draco, and his voice got so dry he lost the words that were supposed to come next in a language desert.

              Lucius frowned, and Narcissa smiled even wider.

              “Well…?” Lucius finally asked, unable to bear this bizarre tension anymore.

              Draco took a breath. He had to be brave, be brave for Harry. “I met someone,” Draco led with. “Or really, reconnected with someone. He’s very important in my life right now, and he has been helping me see my vision for the Manor come true.”

              Narcissa clutched her teacup tightly. “Oh, Draco. That’s wonderful,” she soothed, sensing her boy was nervous to say all this.

              Off the bat Lucius didn’t like the idea of some stranger helping with the Manor. It was different when Draco’s hapless childhood friends were assisting, but who was this person? Lucius didn’t trust a soul outside of his circle, he never had. This was supposed to be done by a Malfoy.

              “And you and this person, you are…?” Lucius asked, avoiding eye contact.

              Draco sighed. Lucius never could bring himself to be specific about this, could he? “He and I are together,” Draco answered succinctly. That was the sort of clarity his poor, confused father needed.

              “Wonderful!” Narcissa said again, jabbing Lucius with her heel in the side of his ankle. “Isn’t that nice, Draco finally settling down.”

              “Hey, I said nothing about settling down,” Draco shot back at her with a grin he hoped would win both parents over. They always had been loving, and weak to Draco’s protests should he not get what he wanted. It was why Draco was so damn spoiled.

              Narcissa giggled. “Right, of course, dear, of course.”

              “ _Mum_.”

              At that Lucius seemed to wake up from his temporary coma. “Draco,” he sounded out as if learning to speak. “That… is… very nice.”

              Draco snorted. “You sound like you’re in pain,” he laughed.

              “I am not,” Lucius defended. “I do not! I am not.”

              Narcissa had to laugh, too. “Your father is proud of you, darling,” she insisted.

              “Of course I am proud of Draco,” Lucius huffed, setting down his tea and crossing his arms. “He is my only child, and a brilliant one at that. I simply… struggle with the choices he makes sometimes.”

              “I’ll say,” Draco chuckled, allowing himself this moment of mirth before it all inevitably came crashing down. “But, ah, thank you. I hope you keep that attitude when I tell you what I have to tell you next.”

              Narcissa was still laughing, too, and didn’t stop even when Draco uttered his ominous warning. “Wait, let me guess,” she interjected. “If I may.”

              “I don’t think you could guess it in a thousand years,” Draco said flatly, waiting for whatever nonsense his mother had come up with this time.

              “You,” Narcissa started, putting her tea down and pointing at Draco. “Are in love.”

              Draco’s jaw dropped. “I, I mean, how could you think—? I, I, I, me? We’re talking about me, right? That’s—that’s—I mean, come on.” His face went bright pink.

              “You are. Do you think I don’t know when my own son is in love?” Narcissa asked and arched a perfectly-trimmed brow. “I could tell the moment you entered our home, no, even before then, darling. Putting off our letters, your vague wording in them about your activities at the hospital and in your ‘week off’ that Pye told use about—I suspected it before you even arrived.”

              “Mother, that’s ridiculous,” Draco declared weakly, sinking back into the couch with a racing heart. If only she knew who she was accusing him of being in love with.

              “Oh, come now, I don’t mean to embarrass you, dear.” Narcissa came down from her laughing with a ladylike hand over her mouth. “But a mother knows. Tell me, who is this man and when can we meet him?”

              “Would you believe me if I say you already have?” Draco asked, half-breathless.

              Lucius’ head cocked waiting for Draco to elaborate.

              “You’ve met him before. He’s from school, Hogwarts,” Draco specified as if there were another school they almost all died at. Hogwarts began as the best of times for young, spoiled Draco but had ended in terror. Sheer, naked terror for his life, for the lives of his parents and the fate of this world.

              In a way, Hogwarts was all about Harry Potter—hating him, being jealous of him, being stupidly attracted to him, being afraid of him, being afraid for him… Madness. The schoolboy crushes were apparently mutual from Harry’s stories of their time there. Talking about that time in their lives, that time in Draco’s life when he was ashamed of who he was, was never easy.

              Draco twirled the Malfoy signet ring on his right hand. It was supposed to be joined on his left by now with a pureblood woman if the Dark Lord had gotten his way. It was thanks to Harry that he could even live his life freely, openly as himself.

              It was Harry Potter now he couldn’t get enough of, always wanted to be with, and again, the physical attraction on both sides was hot enough to melt paint.

              “He,” Draco started to his parents who amidst his thinking were waiting with baited breath. “Is. Someone who is good to me and good for me. He is someone who makes me happy, and yes, I… feel strongly about it.” Why deny it any longer? He’d been found out. “He lives in the Manor with me, he helps me build it… And his name is Harry Potter.”

              Draco winced slightly as if expecting an explosion. Instead there was a long silence.

              Draco, like he was that little boy again, looked to his father.

              “How?” Lucius whispered.

              “I, I was at a bar, and he was there, and came up to me, and—“

              “How could you,” Lucius finished, earning a sharp jab from Narcissa. “How could he build the Manor with him? That’s—that’s too important! The Manor is something sacred to our family line, only meant to be built by Malfoys.”

              “What?” Draco and Narcissa both said at once.

              “Enough,” said Narcissa. “We have to leave the old ways behind, Lucius.”

              “But he’s—! But they are—!” Lucius scrambled. “Building a house together!”

              “Is this,” Draco asked quietly. “Some kind of metaphor for—?”

              “No! Gallivant with who you want, but only build our house with someone you intend to marry, son! How long have you and this boy even been together?”

              “That is irrelevant,” Draco tried to sweep away and got a glare. “ _Twomonths_. But I meant what I said when I said that… thing I said.” About love. “It’s in the building.”

              “Exactly,” Lucius criticized. “And when he leaves you, who will you see in the remains?”

              “That’s morbid, father,” Draco said flatly. “Why is it him leaving me in this scenario, hm?”

              “Because Gryffindor or not, you cannot expect that boy to ever go public with you,” Lucius insisted. “To announce a wedding with you.”

              “Woah, what? Who brought up a wedding?” Draco demanded, gripping the edge of the couch. “And I’ll have you know that he’s the bravest person I know, so don’t question whether he’d do something so utterly reckless to his public image, of course he would. I think he’d be delighted to do it in a sick way.” Fuck, Draco loved that sick man.

              “What your father means to say,” Narcissa tried to translate. “Is that building a house with someone is as serious as a marriage. You said he lives there already? Can he not afford his own lodgings with the Potter wealth?”

              “He can,” Draco defended. “But we wanted to move in together.”

              “How early into two months?” Lucius asked.

              “What?”

              “How early into two months did you move in the Potter boy, Draco?” Lucius was feeling his voice grow hoarse with worry.

              This whole ‘tell the truth’ plan was a total wash.

              “Day two,” Draco specified quietly.

              “Day two?”

              “Day two.”

              “Draco, have you lost your—“

              “Father, please, I know what I’m doing. I didn’t realize you were so… passionate about real estate, but you’ve made your point.”

              “It’s not ‘real estate’, it’s _Malfoy Manor_!” Lucius replied, exasperated. His usually-proud shoulders slumped. “You grew up there, I grew up there, and your children will grow up there.”

              “I don’t know about children, father…” Draco rolled his eyes.

              “Have you asked Two-Day Patron Saint Potter about children? These are real concerns, Draco.”

              Shellshocked, Draco just shook his head for a moment. “Father, I am managing it all in my own time. I am trying to do my best to do right by him in the moment and he wanted to help so I let him. It’s thanks to him that I can make decisions for myself—he’s hardly an interior designer—he just encourages me to do what I want.”

              “That’s good, isn’t it?” Narcissa urged, taking and squeezing Lucius’ hand tight.

              “Let me guess, his favorite color is red,” Lucius grumbled.

              “It’s lavender, actually,” Draco answered.

              “I didn’t even know he was… like you,” Lucius tried. “What about the Weasley girl?”

              “I’m expecting to meet her soon,” Draco murmured, somber. All he remembered of her was making fun of her in school. Hardly his proudest moments. “But yes, Harry is gay like me. Hence the living together.”

              Lucius shook his head.

              “Your disapproval won’t stop it,” Draco reminded him, trying to be bold like Harry.

              “Your father doesn’t disapprove, he simply… wishes you had considered these questions before taking such a big step with a partner,” Narcissa translated again. “But I think he forgets how short our Courtship was.”

              “That was completely different,” Lucius defended. “We were promised to one another.”

              “And had me six months after the wedding, uh-huh. I can do maths,” Draco reminded them, earning a dark glare from both parents.

              “You were our blessing,” Narcissa hissed through gritted teeth. “And always will be, Draco. We only want what is best for you.” Following Draco, Narcissa was never able to get pregnant again no matter how she tried, so she poured all her love into her one son. “I would go to the ends of this earth for you, my love. Your loving Harry Potter won’t change that.”

              Draco had known that was the case and yet to hear it from his mother brought a weight off his chest. His father grumbled something that Draco hoped was agreeing with her sentiment.

              “We want what’s best for you,” echoed Lucius of Narcissa’s sentiment. “The last thing we want is you being hurt. You’ve never been so brash and irrational in relationships before, Draco.”

              “He gives me the courage to be brash,” Draco laid bare. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to come home to no one? You two have always had each other. Well, I’m so excited every day to come home to Harry, okay? Let me have that.”

              “I am so happy that you have that,” Narcissa urged. “We both are. Aren’t we, Lucius?”

              Lucius turned from his wife to his son back to his wife. “Are we?” he asked, exasperated.

              “ _Yes,_ we are,” she growled and squeezed his hand tighter.

              “How did you even know I took a week off?” Draco questioned his mother.

              Narcissa sipped her tea demurely. “A mother has her ways, dear. I maintain a correspondence with several people who noted your absence from work on a ‘holiday’ I knew nothing about.”

              Draco shouldn’t have expected any less from a Slytherin. “Of course.”

              “What did you need a week off to even do?” Lucius sighed but then quickly put a hand up. “I changed my mind. I do not want to know.”

              Draco had half a mind to admit he was training Harry to be the perfect submissive, how to walk in heels and talk like a proper posh darling. Wouldn’t that grey Lucius’ hair even faster. “We were getting reacquainted,” Draco tried, but it came out as unfortunately sexual as the truth was. “I was showing him all the work that needed to be done on the Manor,” he tried again.

              “I for one,” Narcissa cut in. “Think it’s lovely that you’ve found the inspiration to continue on with the construction of the Manor. I don’t care where it comes from—your motivation has clearly increased.”

              “…And he isn’t pushing any Gryffindor-esque designs on you?” Lucius grumbled, seeking some confirmation.

              With a roll of his eyes Draco continued to sip his tea down to the finish. “No, father. He doesn’t ‘push’ anything on me. It’s quite nice.”

              “And you’re _sure_ he would be okay with being public some day?”

              “We haven’t discussed it much, but yes, I’m sure Harry would take such a thing in stride so long as it were on our own terms,” Draco defended. “I will speak to him about it, if it calms your fatherly concern.”

              “It would,” Lucius huffed, not caring about how petty it made him sound. “And furthermore, if you truly wished to quell my concern, you would allow me to meet with him to interrogate his intentions.”

              “You want me to throw him into the snake pit,” Draco remarked, arching a brow.

              “A lion can take a few bites,” Lucius shrugged. “If he’s serious about being with you then he will have to be able to withstand my questioning. I insist.”

              “I’m sure you do,” Draco sighed, shaking his head slightly.

              “What does he like to eat? I could cook a meal,” Narcissa suggested, hoping that would impress the elven-rights activist in Harry with her ability to survive without a house elf cooking and cleaning for them.

              “He has a sweet tooth like me,” Draco admitted, growing soft to think of all they had in common. “His favorite dessert is treacle tarts.”

              “And does he know your favorite dessert is chocolate cake?” Lucius questioned.

              Draco sighed. “I’m sure he would. Is that a question I should prepare him for? Any other ones on your study guide?”

              “No, I won’t be telling you, he will have to answer them without your assistance,” Lucius said seriously.

              “I was joking—ugh.” Draco set his empty teacup down. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

              “I’m not the one who’s gone and shacked up with a half-blood,” Lucius remarked quietly, earning a smack on the arm from Narcissa. “Fine, fine. At least it’s not a muggle.”

              Draco rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long, long teatime.

*** *** ***

              “And he said _what_ about muggles?” Harry questioned, pouring another shot of whiskey.

              “That at least you weren’t one,” Draco sighed, taking the shot from Harry and downing it in spite of the burn. Getting piss drunk was the perfect response to an afternoon spent with parents in Draco’s opinion. “It wasn’t the worst it could have been.”

              Harry poured himself a shot and took it down just as quickly, making a little face before putting the shot glass down. “That’s a glowing review.”

              “Mother seemed thrilled about it and wants you over as soon as possible, it’s just father you have to win over,” Draco tried to frame for him. He put his legs up on the couch and over Harry’s lap. The sitting room was the perfect setting for a drunken evening with his beloved—though he hadn’t quite told him he was his beloved just yet. “He has… issues with you helping out with the Manor.”

              “That is so goddamn weird,” Harry said, pouring out two more shots of whiskey. “You know how weird that is, right?”

              “Yes, I do.”

              “And did you tell him it was weird?”

              “It’s hard to tell Lucius Abraxas Malfoy much of anything,” Draco admitted with more melancholy than he’d intended.

              Harry softened. “Hey, you know I’m really proud of you for telling him in the first place. Your mum, too. I can’t imagine it was easy.” He offered up another shot glass and Draco took it, clinking their two glasses together before making quick work of their third shot in a row.

              “Ah, that burns,” Draco observed mildly of the alcohol but didn’t seem to mind much. “I’ve taken stranger things to the throat, though.” He gave Harry a wink.

              Harry snickered and put a hand on Draco’s knees. “That you have.”

              “Let’s talk about literally anything other than my parents,” Draco suggested. “How was your day? The finished greenhouse is a sight to see.”

              “Thank you,” Harry perked up, quite proud of his work. It was the first and only thing he’d ever built, magic or otherwise. He looked towards the window where it was now too dark to see the grounds but he knew it was out there, something he’d built just for the two of them. “If I’m not careful I may get addicted to this feeling.”

              “The sweet high of a completed home project,” Draco nodded sagely. “Thanks to you I can experience that all the more often.” Lucius’ doubts be damned—Draco was getting stuff done with Harry around. They motivated each other to do better, to be better. “Does it make the Manor feel more like home?”

              “Yeah,” Harry answered with no hesitation. “But you’ve already done a good job of that yourself. I feel at ease here—you can hardly tell it’s the same place as before.” The same place they wrestled for their wands and Draco ‘lost’ them to Harry as he escaped.

              “Thank you. Maybe one day Granger will even see it that way,” Draco imagined wistfully.

              “I hope so, too.” Harry wanted his best friend to be able to visit, to see how much things had changed with the house and with Draco. He knew Hermione still had reservations but was being amicable for his sake, and he wanted to reward that with further glimpses into how kind and generous Draco could be.

              A warm, pleasant feeling spread across Draco’s face, the whiskey finally hitting. “Hey, gorgeous,” Draco greeted Harry like they hadn’t been sitting here for a solid fifteen minutes together. “Gimme a kiss.”

              Harry broke into a wide grin. “Sure thing.” The hand on Draco’s knee reached up to cup his face, feeling how warm his cheek was before planting a soft, tender kiss on Draco’s lips. “That do?”

              “Mmm, I may need another,” Draco thought aloud.

              So Harry gave him another, this time a long and lingering one full with a soft hum from Draco.

              “Yes, that hits the spot,” Draco confirmed. “You’re quite good at that, you know—snogging and such.”

              “And such?” Harry asked maintaining his grin.

              “And such,” Draco nodded. “Come here, sit in Daddy’s lap. I want to tell you a story.”

              Curious, Harry released Draco’s legs and they repositioned themselves so Draco was lounging back on the couch and Harry was straddling him, staring down at his lovely, angular face with pure affection in his eyes. “What sort of story?”

              “The kind with a happy ending,” Draco said, drunkenly making this up as he went along. “Pour us two more shots, sweetheart.” He could always be drunker.

              “Yes, Daddy.” Harry turned on Draco’s lap and wiggled his butt against his crotch, eliciting a peal of giggles from Draco as Harry poured. Harry took the two full glasses and lifted one to Draco’s lips, pouring the shot between them.

              Harry could be so silly, and it made Draco so giddy. He took Harry’s shot and lifted it to his lips, the smaller man taking it down easily. “So, your story,” Draco said, idly fondling Harry’s chest over his shirt. “It starts with a lonely prince, all alone in his big, empty castle.”

              “And with such a low self-image,” Harry joked, knowing immediately who Draco was talking about.

              “Do you want to hear the story?” Draco questioned of Harry and he arched a brow even though Harry was facing away.

              “Yes, yes, I do. I’m especially interested in how it ends.”

              “So impatient,” Draco teased. “How would you like it to end, Harry?”

              “I dunno. It’s your story,” Harry shrugged. “But if I had to pick, it’d be a happy ending for the prince.”

              “Yeah?” Draco asked idly, tucking a lock of raven hair behind Harry’s ear. “Define happy.”

              “This is not usually how stories go,” Harry pointed out. “Me guessing the ending.”

              “You’re not guessing the ending, you’re making it,” Draco informed him.

              “Am I now? Well, then I want the prince to meet a handsome stableboy so they can have that happy ending that princes usually get.”

              “’Usually get’?” Draco questioned, amused and happy to be talking nonsense with Harry.

              Harry shrugged. “Well, you know how stories with princes go. They become kings.”

              “Does the stableboy also become a king?”

              “Whose story is this?” Harry laughed, turning on Draco’s lap so he could look him in the eye.

              “It could be nobody’s,” Draco shrugged. “But it could also be ours, if you like.”

              “Our story,” Harry nodded. “Two kings, one castle. I think I’d like that. Draco…”

              Something in Harry’s voice made Draco’s breath thin.

              “Draco, can I tell you something? And you can’t—you can’t say I’m just saying it because we’re drinking,” Harry insisted.

              Draco’s tongue darted out to wet his drying lips. “Okay, I won’t say that,” he promised.

              “Because I am a little,” Harry admitted. “A little foxed.”

              “Just a tad,” Draco grinned to hide how his heart was pounding.

              “But that doesn’t change anything when I say this.” Harry took a steadying breath.

              Draco’s gaze flitted from feature to feature on Harry’s face. His green eyes, his long lashes, his plump, soft lips…

              “Draco,” said Harry with a deep, shuddery breath. “Draco, I… I love you. And,” Harry quickly added. “You don’t have to say it back, you really don’t, I—I just wanted to tell you. There’s no, um, expectation—“

              “I know,” Draco said quickly, stumbling over his words, face hot. “I mean, I know there’s no expectation, I just didn’t know you—you really…?”

              “I do,” Harry confirmed.

              “Harry,” Draco breathed, suppressing a smile because he couldn’t rightly believe any of this. He had to be dreaming, and fuck, was he tipsy. “You are… you have always been,” Draco tried. “You were the first person to ever, ever say no to me. In my life. July 31st, 1991, in Madam Malkin’s Robe Shop you changed my life forever. You said no to me, you rejected me, and I deserved it.”

              Draco was under no illusion of what a purist arse he’d been those days.

              “And now you _love_ me and I…?”

              “Deserve it,” Harry finished for him resolutely. “You do.”

              “I love you, too,” Draco said, biting back tears.

              Harry blinked. Warmth blossomed inside of his chest like a flower opening to the sun for the first time. “You… you do?”

              “Is it that hard to believe?” Draco deflected with humor.

              “I mean,” Harry said, his whole body still bubbling. “Not through any fault of your own, I just—I rarely hear someone say that and mean it.” Strangers shouted their love out in the streets all the time when Harry roamed Diagon Alley, which was part of the reason he now hated going. Rabid ‘fans’ were the bane of his existence, and he couldn’t seem to step outside in the Wizarding World without encountering at least one.

              That made Draco frown. “Well, I mean it.”

              Harry cupped the side of his face. “And the fact that you do is just… I love you, Draco.”

              “And I love you, Harry,” Draco said and felt all the lighter for saying it. He’d always expected love to be a heavy thing, but with Harry it was feather-light.

              “How’s that for a happy ending?” Harry asked, cheeky as ever now that he’d heard Draco say it in return. Twice! He was over the moon, hands stroking Draco’s soft face.

              Draco considered it. “I’d rather call it a happy beginning.”

              “Yeah? I like the sound of that,” Harry agreed. “I love it, even. Oh, Draco, you’ve made me so happy.” Harry kissed both of his cheeks like Draco had done to him so many times when he was tucking him into bed.

              “As you’ve made me, little love,” Draco said, all the possibilities of petnames opening up to him now that he could call Harry ‘love’ and really mean it. He gave Harry’s forehead a kiss and spoke with his lips still pressed there. “I was indeed lonely before my gallant stableboy came into my life. Well, came into my life for the second time, that is.”

              “Second time’s the charm, it seems,” Harry agreed. He pulled back from Draco’s lips on his forehead so he could bring their lips together with an audible smack. He quickly checked his watch. “Well, that was July 31st, 1991. This is… May 24th, 2007.” With Hermione and Ron’s wedding coming up August 5th. Harry had never thought he’d be able to find a date before then, let alone love.

              “A good day,” Draco confirmed even after everything with his backwards father’s pressures.

              “The best.”

              They kissed, and at last their twin hearts knew peace.

*** *** ***

              Her eyes went wide, her pupils damn-near turned to galleon symbols. “This,” said Rita Skeeter from her office chair, spindly legs crossed beneath her desk. “Is the biggest scoop of the _decade_. Forget our end-of-the-war edition, this is going to sell.”

              “Ironic it’d be the same person involved in both headlines,” spoke the man on the other side of the desk. His foot was tapping nervously while Rita’s were almost vibrating out of her stiletto heels with excitement. He frowned to watch her flip through the pages of the first copy of The Prophet they would distribute tomorrow morning. “Well. We’ve made the Unbreakable Vow, and you will never reveal your source.”

              “Never, darling,” Rita assured him unctuously over the brim of the newspaper. She found a line she particularly liked and laughed gleefully before sealing the paper again. “And here’s your coin.” The Prophet might be just a ‘dirty tabloid’ to most journals these days, a relic of the nineties that ought to have died long ago, but they still had the deepest vaults in Gringotts. Rita had a feeling they were about to get deeper.

              “Then we’ve concluded our business here,” spoke the man. He picked up the velvet sack and tucked it away in his robes before standing. “I was never here.”

              “Of course, of course. Wait, one more thing—you take this copy.” Rita handed the paper over the desk to him. He took it. “Because I’m about to have millions more.”

              The man sighed and looked down at the headline:

              POTTER AND MALFOY’S KINKY BDSM SECRETS: LIVE-IN HOMOSEXUAL LIES

              “Right. Goodbye, then.” And he turned away from her, leaving the office of The Prophet without a soul spotting him. He’d made it—and no one would know it was him.


	14. Freaks, Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written from the isolation of quarantine, here it is, my kookiest chapter yet. Hope you all enjoy!

**Chapter 14: Freaks, Together**

              At first all Harry heard was tapping. He turned over in Draco’s arms, nuzzling against him and away from the light of morning. It was then he heard the squawking.

              Harry’s eyes opened and he shot up in bed right for his wand on the bedside table. “What in the--?”

              “Hmf?” Draco queried from his place in bed still, arms reaching out seeking the heat that had left him so quickly.

              Harry saw the commotion at the window and needed to put on his glasses to understand it. “Owls,” Harry realized.

              “Ugh,” Draco groaned. “We need to set up a proper owlery, I hate how they wake us up. Whose is it?”

              “It’s, uh,” Harry began. “Several. Lots. Many.” And they were all fighting to scratch on the glass of the window on Draco’s side of the bed.

              Draco sat up, expecting three, or maybe four owls. There had to be at least twelve. “Merlin’s sweet arse. What the fuck.” Draco stood from the covers naked and floated a silk robe with his wand directly over to him. Putting it on, he faced the window with wide eyes. “Should I let them in? I don’t even recognize some of these.”

              “That one’s Hermione’s,” Harry pointed out of the tawny barn owl. “And that’s Ron’s. Why’d they send two separate owls?”

              “We should let them in, then.” Draco paused. “Harry, I don’t do well with animals—“

              “I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Harry waved Draco away from the window and went to open it himself. ‘Daddy’ could be such a priss sometimes. “Brace for impact!”

              Twelve owls fought to get in at once, some succeeding and some less so, bursting in as one feathered flock.

              They dropped their stack of letters with precision on the oaken bureau beneath the window and promptly eyed down Harry until he gave them treats. Draco was only mildly horrified, as he was with all animals, even his father’s peacocks when he was younger. They could be vicious.

              Harry sent the owls away finally and some of the tension in Draco’s shoulders eased.

              “What’s this?” Harry reached for the top letter on the stack that had scrawled on the outside: READ FIRST. “This is Hermione’s handwriting.” Harry would know it anywhere.

              Draco reached into the stack of letters until he found one that had READ SECOND written on it. “Well then. I guess we read them in order. Is this some kind of weird scavenger hunt wedding invitation thing? I hate those,” Draco said because maybe it was worth mentioning what wedding traditions he found tacky to Harry. Try as he might to resist, Lucius’ scoldings about taking who he built the Manor with more seriously replayed in Draco’s mind at night.

              “No, they sent out their invitations months ago.” Harry had a strange, sinking feeling in his stomach. “Let’s read the first.”

              Draco came up behind him so they could read it together.

              _Harry, we are so sorry to give you this news but you had to see it from us first._

And included in the envelope was a clipping of the Prophet.

POTTER AND MALFOY’S KINKY BDSM SECRETS: LIVE-IN HOMOSEXUAL LIES

              FULL DETAILS PAGE 4

              Included was page four, and five, and six. The article took three pages up.

              The main body of page five was not in the usual obnoxious Prophet typeface, though. It was in his handwriting on the page of the magazine he’d written in to.

              _Submissive man seeking to be kept by a kind, cruel, true Dominant Daddy. I will earn my keep in your home however you see fit. Hardworking, eager, open to anything once. Seeking discipline, structure, empathy and torture. Thin, 168cm. Dark hair, green eyes. Discretion far more important than your means. --H_

For a second there was no sound at all.

All of their letters following the ad were here, every single one. The excerpts ended with a ‘journalistic’ analysis of the contents from none other than Rita Skeeter.

Harry’s “Oh,” was the first thing to pierce the air.

“Fuck,” came next from Draco. “Fucking—“

“Who, who even reads The Prophet?” Harry asked in genuine disbelief. Maybe this wasn’t a big deal, and people would see it as a desperate attempt to bring their names down.

An inhuman cold came over Draco’s body, pale like he’d seen real ghosts be. “My parents, Harry. My parents read The Prophet.”

“What?”

“They know it’s trash but they like to keep connected to England! They order two other papers, too!” Why was he defending his parents’ choice in tabloids? They had far more pressing matters to worry about. “Harry,” Draco refocused. “I have to go right now. I have to, I have to get dressed—“

“What?” Harry asked again because he was still processing this in waves. Where was Draco going?

Draco was going to get dressed. He’d already put on a tight green sweater and was working his way into black trousers as fast as Harry had ever seen him redress. Harry’s heart was pounding.

Harry followed Draco into the walk-in closet and tried desperately to ignore the implications of doing that. What was going on? Who had told? “Who could have possibly—?”

“Nope,” Draco cut in. “Not now, we cannot even begin to discuss ‘who’ right now. Now I have to go. _Right_ now. I can still burn it before they see it.” He put on the first pair of trainers he saw and made a beeline from the closet to the fireplace in his bedroom.

“Wait!” Harry said, chasing after him again, this time with his own clothing in-hand. “I have an idea, the invisibility cloak! I keep it in a box under my bed—!”

“Yes, that’s perfect!” Draco snapped his fingers. They both took off down the hall towards Harry’s room, a bit neglected these days but still a comfortable spot to retreat to. Along the way Harry pulled on the trousers and t-shirt because wherever Draco was going, he was going, too.

Harry pulled the cloak out of the box and Draco almost, almost got the opportunity to admire a genuine Deathly Hallow like the storybooks said before he was running back towards the fireplace. It was so gossamer, like woven water. He could marvel at this later.

“I’ll go first, bring the cloak,” Draco ordered in almost eerily-calm and analytical way. His fight-or-flight-or-freeze instinct had settled on rage, rage against the hand he’d been dealt. Having his unconventional sex life used for the commercial gain of some conservative rag? It lit a fire in his lizard brain. Having his parents read said article? No, that wasn’t happening. “France Estate!” he shouted after grabbing a handful of Floo power, not looking back and trusting that Harry would follow.

Draco emerged onto marble tile first and then Harry did.

“Come here,” Harry urged, inviting him under the cloak. Draco quickly accepted.

The thing about the invisibility cloak of legend, the Deathly Hallow Harry Potter still possessed, was that it was limited in size. Three children had once been able to fit under with only minor poking out of their feet, but two fully-grown men did not have the same luxury. They were visible up to their knees.

“Fuck, it’s too small,” Harry whispered.

“It’s better than nothing—oh, fuck.” Clacking heels were rapidly approaching down the hall. “Harry, you wear it. I’ll distract them.” Draco ducked out of the cloak and Harry crouched down low to the floor just in time for Narcissa Malfoy to come around the corner.

“Draco! I thought that I heard you come in,” she greeted warmly. Even in the morning she wore platformed shoes, always concerned with looking her best. “What’s all this about? We didn’t receive any owl.”

“You haven’t checked the mail?” Draco asked quickly.

“No, not yet,” Narcissa shook her head, smile twitching slightly. “Is something wrong, Draco?”

              “What is going on?” bellowed Lucius from down the hall. “Narcissa?”

              “It’s Draco, dear,” she called back.

              “Nobody has checked the mail?” Draco double-checked.

              “Draco?” Lucius questioned, coming into sight.

              Hidden unmoving under the cloak Harry realized that he’d never seen the Malfoy family like this. Narcissa was in a long, luminous pink nightgown and Lucius was in his morning robes with reading glasses on, unshaven first thing in the morning.

              They hardly looked like the vicious power-couple Harry remembered them as. They were older, and more worn than they even had been at the trials.

              “Father!” Draco said, stepping in front of where he hoped Harry was so he could cover him. “Good morning!”

              “Good morning, son. What is… going on?” Lucius asked slowly. He gleamed suspicion in his eyes.

              “Yes, shouldn’t you be at work around this time?” Narcissa questioned. “Isn’t it a Monday?”

              So they really hadn’t read anything. Draco let out a breath of relief, but he still wasn’t out of the woods just yet. “You haven’t visited the owlery out back through the dining room yet today?” Draco asked as he awkwardly tried to put in instructions for Harry.

              “No…?” Lucius answered, voice rising slightly in pitch to indicate the deepest of confusion.

              Harry took one step, two steps, inching along the back of the room. Could he seriously make it all the way through the dining room? He’d done more dangerous stunts in this cloak, avoiding everyone from Argus Filch to Severus Snape to Draco Malfoy, all of whom knew Harry had the cloak.

              Harry summoned that mischievous eleven year-old self’s sneakiness and guile, slowing creeping across the room.

              Maybe, just maybe he thought as he backed up towards an open archway, they could get away with this. Was this the way to the dining room? Only one way to find out. Harry crept low, knees aching all the way.

              This was much easier when he was a kid. Okay, through the dining room. Harry inched that way.

Harry took one step, two steps, and promptly backed up into a high-arching end table holding what he could only assume was a priceless family vase. He had only a second to decide what to do, and he made his choice valiantly. Diving out with hand outstretched Harry caught the vase—only to expose himself through the cloak.

Narcissa was the first to see him, letting out a shocked noise and jumping back in her heeled loafers.

“Harry?” Narcissa questioned.

“Potter?” Lucius demanded.

“Father,” Draco tried.

“Draco!” Narcissa exclaimed.

“This is—“ Harry said and everyone went unexpectedly quiet. “This is not the outfit I was going to wear to meet you again,” he spoke of his t-shirt and plain trousers. It was all he could think to say. “Um.” He stood up, letting the cloak fall to the floor behind him in a heap. Harry put the vase back on the table and then turned around to face Lucius and Narcissa. “Hello.”

“Is that--?” Lucius asked in complete disbelief. He remembered his father’s servants reading Tales of Beedle the Bard to him as a lad and was made a curious child all over again.

“The Invisibility Cloak? Yes,” Harry answered, picking it up and walking to Draco’s side.

“It is… so good to see you again,” spoke up Narcissa before Lucius could get in with anything else. “Harry Potter.”

Harry hadn’t been expecting that. Draco had, but he was so focused on his father’s confused and disgusted facial expression that nothing his mother said mattered. This also wasn’t the outfit he’d wanted to wear when introducing Harry to them again. Why, why hadn’t he gotten to do this his way? Why had someone robbed him of that moment?

              Draco was frustrated enough to cry, so he didn’t say anything lest the floodgates open. He was staring at his father with a slight tremble in his lower lip. It didn’t escape Harry’s notice.

              With another step closer Harry put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “I’m afraid,” Harry said. “We don’t come bearing the best of news.”

              Narcissa, sensing her son’s distress as well, clutched her chest in fear of what Harry was to say next. “What is it?”

              “Someone, somehow found out about us,” Harry started. He could barely start the next sentence before Lucius interrupted.

              “I said this would happen,” Lucius pointed out, glumly smug about it all. “Didn’t I, Cissa?”

              “Draco,” Narcissa said, ignoring her husband entirely. “What is going on?”

              Draco took a deep, shuddery breath. “I need you,” Draco said shakily. “To trust me when I say you cannot read this copy of The Prophet. Ever. Please. There are just some things—some things that a parent shouldn’t see.”

              Lucius let out a belabored sigh, putting his hand over his face. “Is it photos?” he drawled in his deep, posh voice. “Please tell me I raised a son with enough sense not to let his dirty photos get out.”

              “No, it isn’t photos,” Draco snapped. “It’s—it’s just not meant for you or anyone else to read!” Draco braced for impact. “It’s… letters.”

              Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief. “The Prophet got ahold of your love letters? That’s all?” She stepped forward and put her arms out, inviting Draco to come in for a hug and Harry, too.

              “Well,” Harry squeaked, voice coming out far higher-pitched than he’d intended it to.

              “This is a violation of your privacy, the both of you. We need to call the lawyers. How could someone have intercepted a direct owl?” Lucius spiraled.

              “It wasn’t a direct owl,” Draco realized. “It was through—Merlin’s arse. We met through a magazine.”

              “I thought you met at a bar,” Narcissa recalled with eerie clarity and an arched brow.

              “We did,” Harry nodded, trying to be a good boyfriend and back Draco up. “But first we reconnected through a magazine. It must have been someone there, someone with access to our record of conversations. It was supposed to be anonymous--!”

              “All of this to make the point,” Draco cut in. “That I need to go burn your copy of The Prophet. Right now. Do not look at it.”

              Lucius stared hard at Draco, then at Harry, then at Draco. “You have to tell me something first.”

              “What?” Draco asked, frowning and confused by what was being asked of him.

              “I know what ‘magazine’ you’re referring to, Draco. I am your father, after all. Your hiding places were obvious to me when you were at Hogwarts.” Lucius thought back on their old home with pride for what it was before The Dark Lord came and ruined every corner and floorboard with his rot.

              Draco paled. “You went through my things when I was at Hogwarts?!”

              “Just tell me something, Draco. Which one of you is it?” Lucius interrogated. His deadly serious tone made Harry have to swallow down his dread. He had to be brave for Draco, for himself.

              “Which one is what?” Draco demanded.

              “Which is the one…” How should he phrase this? “Getting hurt?”

              Draco’s jaw fell open. “What—what on, what do you, what?”

              “Your magazine featured situations in which one of the parties involved…” Lucius shook his head in disgust. “Gets hurt by the other.”

              “It’s me,” Harry piped up. There was no need to drag this out. “It’s me. I would never—I could never hurt your son.”

              Lucius directed his fiery gaze back to Harry. “You’re damned right you could never hurt him. I would end you, Potter—“

              “Father!” Draco exclaimed, face turned Gryffindor red. “Was that question really necessary!?”

              “One hundred percent, Draco,” Lucius snapped back at his son. “I would never allow any harm to come to you even recreationally. I think you should know by now—”

              “I think,” said Draco, voice higher and face getting redder by the minute. “This is my worst nightmare. My absolute worst nightmare come to life.”

              “Draco,” Narcissa sighed. “Just go burn it.”

              “Thank you, mother.”

              Draco turned on a dime and marched through the dining room and towards the owlery, expecting Harry to follow.

              “I should—“ Harry tried, pointing in the direction Draco was going.

              “No, you will stay. I’m not through asking questions of you. What is your financial situation, Potter?” Lucius demanded.

              “My what?” Harry asked, watching Draco turn corner and disappear.

              “Please, dear, the Potters were old money like us. I imagine Harry hasn’t spent it all away,” Narcissa tried to step in and defend him. “Right, dear?”

              Harry wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended by a statement like that.

              “No,” Harry replied, making the decision to stay in place and face whatever onslaught was coming from Lucius. Draco had warned him there would be tests, and today seemed like one long test of his patience if anything. Draco would be back soon, right? “I haven’t spent even a small fraction of my inheritance, it’s all still in Gringotts. I don’t gamble—I have terrible luck.”

              Lucius squinted at him. “You killed The Dark Lord.”

              “Yes… I killed Tom Riddle,” Harry responded. “But that wasn’t luck. I only got there because of everyone who supported me.” And died for him, because of him. Harry’s heart hung low to think of it.

              Narcissa noticed the change in Harry’s tone. “Lucius,” she requested of her husband. “It’s my turn to ask a question. Harry Potter—do you love my son?”

              Harry nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, I do.”

              “Then that is all I need to know.” She offered him a motherly smile. Lucius rolled his eyes.

              Before Lucius could open his mouth for another question, Draco was back. “Father, that’s enough. Whatever you’re going to say—that’s enough of that. I should have taken your hand to lead you away and kept you from the lions,” Draco accused of his parents, taking Harry’s hand as he spoke about it.

              “We still need to owl the lawyers,” Lucius grumbled.

              “I will find who is responsible for this,” Harry swore in front of the family. “Who exposed such a private part of our lives. I will.” Harry had the means and the magic to get answers from anyone he wanted.

              “Then hop to it, Saint Potter,” dismissed Lucius, turning from the conversation with a huff. “This all has given me a headache. I must to my office to write the Bagleys.”

              “The who?” Harry asked Draco aside.

              “Family lawyers. They’ve been with our account for generations,” Draco explained. “If we can find whoever leaked this, we can at least make their lives miserable legally for a little while.” Even if charges didn’t stick, a lengthy legal fight with endless Malfoy money would drain the poor suckers dry.

              Draco watched as Lucius walked away rubbing his temples, harrowed by the experience of seeing his father so distraught and disappointed and it was only still morning. “We have to go,” Draco told his mother. “Harry,” he spoke next. “We need to get out in front of this. Are you willing to go with me to another paper and give them an exclusive interview?”

              “The Quibbler,” Harry said seriously. “It’s the only paper I trust.”

              “The Lovegoods’… creature catalog?” Draco questioned.

              “They’re the only ones who would print the story right,” Harry insisted.

              “Okay, fine, The Quibbler it is.” As if things couldn’t get any weirder. “We should get to their office sooner rather than later.”

              “Oh, goodbye Draco! It’s always so good seeing you, and I do hope you’ll bring Harry around more. I know my husband can be demanding of who he thinks would make his son happy, but it’s all because he cares. We love you so much, Draco.”

              Narcissa enveloped Draco in another hug regardless of whether he was volunteering one.

              “Thanks, mum,” Draco had to say to get permission to pull away from the near-crushing embrace. “Love you, too.” He blushed to be saying that in front of anyone even about his own mother.

              Harry found the whole thing quite adorable. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said.

              “Please, Harry, call me Narcissa,” she insisted, outstretching her hand so that Harry could take it. “Lucius is the way he is because he thinks only of Draco’s safety. I will speak with him after owling the lawyers.”

              “Thank you, Narcissa,” Harry said again.

She squeezed his hand and released it so Draco could take it once more. “Be safe, you two. I shall get a subscription to this ‘Quibbler’ and look forward to reading it.”

And with that Draco turned back to the fireplace. “Ready?” he asked Harry, still not sure if he was himself.

“Ready,” Harry answered, and galvanized Draco’s resolve with how sure he seemed.

They stepped into the Floo one by one, headed for the Manor and then for the offices of The Quibbler.

*** *** ***

              After a change of clothes—as Harry had said earlier, this wasn’t the outfit he’d wanted to present himself to Draco’s parents in, let alone the public in—the two men arrived in the cover of cloaks to the home of the Lovegood family. It was about as remote as the Manor, but who knew who was following them these days.

              With one hand occupied holding Draco’s, the other hand went up to knock on the door of the refurbished tower. The sky-reaching, cylindrical home where The Quibbler was printed was in a more pristine state than ever with record paper sales from Luna’s legions of followers. No longer was it the ramshackle place it had once been, instead now a bastion of the Lovegood family name.

              Harry wondered seriously if more people read The Quibbler than The Prophet these days. Draco was a little more doubtful.

              “Coming!” they heard from behind the grand front door. With the turning of some locks inside the door opened to reveal Luna Lovegood, long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that fell over her purple jumper. “Harry!” she recognized immediately. “It’s so good to see you, and you’ve brought Draco. It’s been too long.” She didn’t sound judgmental when saying Draco’s name but was a little hesitant.

              Draco had been cruel to everyone in school, and he could hardly blame them if they were still bitter as adults for the venom he’d injected into their young lives.

              “It has,” Harry replied warmly. “Have you seen today’s Prophet by any chance?”

              “I have heard of the front-page news, yes,” Luna said, voice sympathetic and soft. “Please, come inside. I have a pot of tea on.”

              Harry entered with Draco trailing slightly behind him. The room they entered was full of bright colors and stained glass windows letting in even more colored light. It was a rainbow room, with bits and baubles hanging from the ceiling and gently spinning as Luna walked by them.

              On the stove was a teakettle as promised, and Luna took out three mismatched cups to begin filling with hot water. “Father is out doing research in Lithuania on increased Wrackspurt activity in the countryside and how it’s been affecting some wizards and witches, so he won’t be joining us, but I am here. Please, sit.”

              “Thank you,” said Harry, accepting a cup of tea from Luna when it was done steeping.

              “Thanks,” Draco nodded when he got his as well.

              “Now, did you come to see me as emotional support or as the Editor In-Chief of The Quibbler?” she asked, sitting in a chair across from the couch Draco and Harry occupied.

              “Both,” said Harry a bit glumly. “I wish this was just a social visit, but we think it’s best to tell our side of the story to the public now that things have gotten out of hand.”

              “We need to get in front of this,” Draco repeated from earlier. “It’s already too late to get ahead of it, but if we release something today we might just be able to curb public opinion.” Draco hated having to care about public opinion, but such things mattered when one was an ex-Death Cult member dating the Savior of the World.

              “It would be a lot simpler if they just revealed our relationship, that we can explain, but the nature of which this relationship came about… It’s violating, having it revealed,” Harry admitted with frustration. It was all to sell papers for that Rita Skeeter, too, a bug that Harry wished had been squashed a long time ago.

              Luna nodded. Being the fan of journalistic integrity that she had raised to be by Xenophilius she remembered her first encounter with Skeeter stalking Harry at school. She had hated the woman even then, and Luna hated few people. “I can imagine you’re feeling exposed, and betrayed. Do you know who sold the story?”

              “Our only guess now is someone who works for the magazine Safeword. How they figured out it was us, now that’s a different story… Our physical descriptions were included in our letters betwixt one another but about a million wizards out there look like us. Maybe the height information narrows it down to a couple hundred but still, to know it was us…” Draco shook his head and realized his hands were trembling, too. “We just had to come from telling my parents not to read the story.”

              “Have you yourselves read the whole story?” asked Luna.

              “Parts,” said Harry. “Unfortunately it’s all true. Draco and I met anonymously through a BDSM sex rag and got together to pursue… that sort of relationship.” Nobody was supposed to know, nobody was supposed to find out…

              Luckily if Luna were shocked or scandalized her face wasn’t showing it. “I can contact a friend I have at Safeword about the matter, look into how someone broke their privacy policies. At the very least they’re fired, if not pursued legally.”

              Draco arched an eyebrow. So Loony was kinky too? Probably shouldn’t have called her that, even in his head, what with how willing to help she seemed.

              “The publishing business is small in the wizarding world,” she said as if she’d read Draco’s mind. “I keep a subscription to a number of publications to see what’s out there.”

              “You don’t need to defend yourself to us,” Harry laughed bitterly.

              “But I think,” Draco said, thumbing his teacup. “I have to apologize to you. I’m sorry, Luna. For everything I did when we were younger.” The vitriol he’d spewed into everyone’s lives at that age was immeasurable, and he was sure Luna had less-than-pleasant memories of her forced stay in the Manor basement. He wondered if he should let her know he’d torn the place down.

              Luna offered him a gentle smile. “I forgave you a long time ago, Draco. It is nice to hear an apology aloud though, so thank you for that.

              Harry, in spite of everything that was happening, was beaming with pride to see Draco taking responsibility for his actions. Harry had forgiven Draco long before he apologized, too.

              “I’m more than happy to put you on our front page as a new story,” Luna went on. “The exclusive interview deserves that spot in the next publication. Would you mind if I began the interview now? We need it sooner rather than later if we’re to get the story out in time.”

              Harry looked to Draco, who nodded.

              “How do interviews with The Quibbler usually work?” asked Draco, straightening up his robes. They thought it best to dress as wizards when they made this announcement to the wizarding world. At least none of the muggles at market in Wiltshire would know. Draco enjoyed getting food there with Harry at least once a week, a place where nobody knew who they truly were.

              “However you want them to work,” said Luna. “What you’re going through right now is traumatizing, and after so much trauma you both faced in the war, I want this to be as painless as possible.”

              “Thank you. Can we edit it when we’re done speaking?” Harry asked.

              “Of course. It’s your story to tell. I can start with a few guided questions, and we’ll see where they take us,” Luna began, getting out her wand. “The quickquotes quill I use,” she explained, summoning the quill and a long roll of parchment. “Are made to record only what you’re saying, not anything else. I know Skeeter adds… description with hers, but here it will just be our words.”

              “That,” she said. “And a picture if you’ll allow it.”

              The couple nodded, and Luna took out her wizarding camera. Draco and Harry, a bit awkwardly, faced themselves toward the camera and gripped each other’s hands when the flash went off. They looked good, but they definitely didn’t look happy.

              She waved her wand and the quill stood at the ready. “Hello, Harry, hello, Draco. Thank you for joining me here today with the Quibbler.”

              “Thank you for having us,” spoke Harry first. The quill began to scribble away.

              “Thank you, yes,” Draco said for the record. This would be his first official interview in years, and Harry’s, too.

              “I appreciate you speaking with me in what has to be a tough time.”

              “It is,” Draco answered with a bitter taste in is mouth. “A… tough time.” They hadn’t really slowed down to think about exactly what a tough time it was, either. “For the both of us.” He looked to Harry and squeezed his hand.

              Harry squeezed back. “Being outed is never easy, I guess. I have always dealt with the press stalking me but this is a new low, Luna. This is something nobody was meant to see but Draco and I. This was private.”

              “So you are together?” she pressed for the sake of the interview. “For how long?”

              “Two months and five days,” Draco answered because he had indeed been counting. This had all started in when the weather was chilly out, and now it was blooming into spring. “I’ve enjoyed every one of them.”

              Now that made Harry smile wide for the first time all day. “Yeah? Me too. I wish this wasn’t how everyone found out about us.”

              “What is your biggest worry here, Harry?” Luna asked.

              “My biggest worry? Well, I’ve got more than a few,” he laughed dryly. “But my biggest… has to be for Draco. He’s an excellent Healer, and loves his job. He’s told me stories, about people not wanting to be seen by him because they ‘thought’ he was gay. Now people know, and they know too much, frankly, and—and I just don’t want this to affect his life negatively.”

              Draco nodded slowly. He was still going through the personal repercussions of his life being exposed, and hadn’t even begun to think about the repercussions this could have in his career. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Some people wouldn’t see me not because of my past but because of my perceived sexual orientation. Isn’t that mad? The first one I understand, but this...”

              “Draco,” Luna spoke. “What is your biggest worry here?”

              “That this means it’ll never stop,” said Draco. “For Harry, for me. Once there’s blood in the water reporters come in droves, to my workplace but more importantly to our home.” Their home, always. “Harry deserves peace, and rest, and no one seems willing to give it to him when he saved us all. It’s simply not right.”

              Now both men were holding each other with a squeeze, trying to keep from losing sight of what was most important here.

              “Harry,” she addressed him next, the hint of a smile on her lips. “Does Draco bring you peace?”

              “Yes, undoubtedly,” Harry answered, his own smile shaky but present. “I have never known such love, the kind that heals like his does. He is the last person on earth who deserves this kind out outing.”

              Draco’s eyes burned but he forced himself to maintain his composure. “Harry…”

              “I mean it. You don’t deserve this in a world that barely understands gay people, let alone what we do with each other. You deserve so much better,” Harry insisted.

              “And so do you, Harry,” Draco pushed back.

              “And what you mean by ‘what you do with each other’…? Harry, Draco,” Luna said gently. “This one is for both of you: Do you feel you’re in a safe, sane, and consensual relationship at which you can leave any time, under the influence of no love potion or spell?”

              “Yes,” they both said at once.

              “Then that’s all that matters to this reporter. As someone who knew you both in school I want to say on a personal note that I am so happy you two have found happiness in one another,” Luna said, earning smiles from both of the men. “What else would you like the public to know?”

              “That whoever did this,” began Draco. “Best expect legal action of the swiftest form.”

              Harry thought about adding a threat to their lives as well but decided against doing that in their first interview together for the world. He had killed once before, and someone could see the threat as credible or at worst unhinged. “Legal action,” Harry agreed with gritted teeth. “And they have to tell me why. Why would they do this? The money? The notoriety? Why did they do this to us?”

              “I hope you find your answers soon,” Luna wished for them. “Is there anything else you wanted anyone else to know? Now’s your chance to speak it to all of my readers.”

              “Yeah,” said Harry. “I love Draco Malfoy, and I love what he does to me, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

              Draco beamed. “I love you too, Harry.” He said it even though he knew thousands would be reading it, and he said it proudly.

              “And that’s Luna Lovegood with The Quibbler, signing off.” She picked up the quill and placed it down on the table. “How was that? Is there anything I missed?”

              “No, it was good,” Harry said, and looked to Draco to confirm.

              “Thank you for not pressing too much into the gory details,” Draco nodded.

              “Of course. You’ve been through enough,” Luna told them. “But can I tell you something that I think will make you feel better?”

              “Sure,” said Draco, since there wasn’t much left to lose and chatting with Luna Lovegood was actually rather refreshing.

              She downed her tea like it was alcohol in one last big gulp, putting the mug down on the table and looking to Draco and Harry with mischief sparkling in her eyes. “I’ve got Neville Longbottom tied up in my basement as we speak.”

              Draco and Harry’s jaws dropped alike.

              “Don’t worry, he gets off on humiliation so he wouldn’t mind me telling you. This is why I have a theory: It wasn’t someone at Safeword who sold you out. Call it a feeling, but I know this world and I know these people. I’ll owl you when I speak to them.”

              “Damn, Lovegood,” said Draco, looking at her with a whole new heaping mass of respect.

              “I was wondering where he was,” Harry chuckled. “Good on him.”

              “Oh, I am,” Luna answered wistfully, making Draco and Harry crack up again. “Ah, we have our fun. Don’t worry, I’ll get to him as soon as this new Quibbler is out.” And with a wink Luna sent the recorded transcript off to the press.

*** *** ***

              Back at the Manor once more, Draco and Harry finally went through all of the letters they’d been sent. They had been sent condolences and expressions of anger that this had happened to them from all of Draco’s friends, an invitation to dinner from Molly and Arthur—who thank goodness didn’t mention the finer details of their outing—and then there was Ron and Hermione’s letter: READ SECOND.

              “I suppose they knew the first one would spur us to action,” Harry remarked, turning the second letter over in his hands and carefully ripping open the envelope.

              “What does it say?” asked Draco, looking over Harry’s shoulder.

              _Dear Harry and Draco,_

              _We know this must be mortifying for you. After you’ve done whatever you need to do to adjust to the shock of the first letter, we hope you can sit down together and read this one._

_You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. In the coming days people may try and mock you, belittle you for the way you conduct yourselves in private, but know we will never be among them. We’re your friends no matter what, Harry, and now that you’ve chosen to love Draco he falls under our protection, too._

_Kinks and fetishes are completely natural things that have existed since the dawn of human sexuality. You’re not harming anyone with what you do in private as consenting adults._

_If anything this revelation of how you truly met fills in some blanks for us. We’re only sorry you didn’t trust us with the real story, and understand why you were hesitant to. We had no idea how you bonded so quickly and were worried things were being rushed, but now we see why. It takes complete and total trust to properly do a scene with a partner, and if you, Harry, trust Draco in that way, then I know he’s done something to prove he deserves it._

_Harry, you’ve always seen the good in people where even we couldn’t. It’s part of what makes you such an inspiring leader, and such a compassionate friend. Seeing you so down like you were before Draco came back into your life was painful, because we knew you were in pain._

_So if it takes a little physical pain to cure a little emotional pain, we say go for it. We haven’t seen you this happy before, this fulfilled._

_We’re here for you always, and hope to hear back from you soon. Perhaps we could all get together at Malfoy Manor if you felt safest there. We care about you, and want to know how you’re doing with this betrayal of trust in your life. Whoever sold this story will regret it when we come around to collect._

_Nothing but love,_

_Hermione and Ron_

“Oh,” said Draco, his heart swelling to feel almost suspiciously full. “That was very kind of them to say. I suppose we do also owe them for being the first to break the news to us.” He looked over to Harry and saw a tear roll down his tan cheek. “Harry?”

              “I’m just so glad,” said Harry, another tear falling. “That they understand. I didn’t say it for the interview but I was so afraid— _so_ afraid that our private life being revealed would mean they’d abandon me. The whole Weasley clan, really. They’ve got Charlie who’s gay so I know they’d always accept me for that, but—I don’t know. Do you ever feel dirty in your lowest of moments? Wrong for wanting what we want?”

              Seeing Harry cry and speak so openly about this had tears pricking the corners of Draco’s eyes. “In my lowest moments,” Draco nodded to admit. “I know what conservatives and purists say about people like us. There’s a class of respectable, sexless gay some can stand but the ones like us, the freaks, we’re abhorrent to them.” Draco wiped away one of Harry’s tears. “But they’re wrong. They don’t know love like I know it when I’m with you, and it’s made me a better and stronger man.”

              Harry cracked a little smile. “You know, I happen to like being a freak with you,” he reminded him. “I don’t care how many people call us depraved or sick for it.” He drew Draco into a hug that was immediately accepted tightly. “You’re my partner, my equal, and you’re also my Daddy.”

              “And damn proud of it,” replied Draco, holding close the man for whom he would do anything. They were going to get through this, and they were getting through it together.


	15. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprises for everyone! This chapter was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you have fun reading it. Drarry is keeping me sane in quarantine hell. Stay safe, wash your hands, and take lots of baths, everyone!

**Chapter 15: Surprises**

              A week had to be long enough to lie low, hadn’t it?

              Considering it was another week spent off with Harry they lied particularly low on just about any surface they could find. Nothing wrong with seeking a little solace in one another during these trials and tribulations.

              They also visited with Ron and Hermione during the week quite a bit to talk, and that seemed to be helping Harry deal with this betrayal of trust. Draco owled his friends that everything was going to be fine, but his suspicious nature prevented him from taking too much solace in them.

              The Slytherins were, after all, the few people who knew the truth about Harry and Draco’s second meeting and what magazine it had gone through. Draco didn’t want to suspect his friends, but he no longer knew quite what to think.

              In a strange twist of fate Safeword issued an official apology, announcing it was looking into its employees to see where the leak had come from. The Editor-In-Chief had offered her personal condolences in a letter with the assurance they’d find who could have accessed their ‘private’ messaging networks.

              Harry was dead-set on finding out who it was who violated their privacy and was to have a meeting with the mysterious Editor-In-Chief later that day.

              But with all of Draco’s vacation days finally used up, he had no choice but to return to work. It was work he loved, but it was dealing with the public again that made him hesitate to return. Even seeing the other Healers could be a great deal of stress, let alone what Head Healer Pye made of this scandal.

              Draco hadn’t been fired, but his week off had certainly been encouraged when he owled it in.

              Donning his immaculate white robes Draco left a sleepy Harry in bed for the apparation trip to the Hospital, arriving in the foyer as several other witches and wizards did.

              Draco tensed, hoping they hadn’t seen him, and thankfully those few entering hadn’t. Now there was the challenge to get all the way to his office on the third floor without being spotted and subsequently humiliated on the spot.

              Why hadn’t he brought the invisibility cloak? Maybe another day, if today was particularly bad.

              Draco usually walked these halls with his head held high in spite of his past but now he was slightly crouched, clearly trying to hide and blend in with the crowd.

              He made it past the reception desk without Pansy spotting him—thank Merlin, he really wanted to be alone—and ducked past the security guard with a brief flash of his Healer’s badge. He wasn’t out of the woods just yet.

              To get to the staircase up to his office he’d have to pass the doors to the Healer’s locker rooms and lounge, and that place was always crawling with interns. Draco hurried down the hall, glancing over his shoulder to see if he was being followed.

              When Draco turned back around to face forward he nearly knocked right into someone wearing identical robes to his.

              “M-M-Malfoy!” exclaimed an intern.

              “Yes, Alice, it’s me,” Draco grumbled, looking past her to make sure no one was following her out of the Healers’ spaces. “Do tell reception I can begin taking patients again.” He didn’t stop walking, still heading for the stairs.

              “Yes, er, of course,” she nodded and just when Draco thought he was home clear he heard her pipe up again. “Um. Head Healer Pye said he was looking for you.”

              “Of course he is,” Draco sighed, pausing for a second. “Thank you for telling me.” He nodded and was off again.

              He entered the stairwell before Alice could say anything else, not caring to hear anything from anyone right now. Draco was a man on a mission, and if he could just get to his office without incident—

              “I heard he’s quitting,” echoed a voice in the stairwell. “I’d quit too, if I was so publicly disgraced like that.”

              “I know, right?”

              “Maybe him and Potter will run away to—“

              The two voices stopped as two Healers stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing Healer Malfoy enter the stairwell.

              There was a tense silence. The two Healers who’d been gossiping had eyes wider than saucers to see the subject of their gossip before them.

              “Malfoys,” Draco said simply, echoing his father’s sentiments for the first time in a long while. “Don’t quit.” He brushed past them, trudging up the stairs with renewed purpose. So he was still the subject of scorn here at the Hospital, then. Well, it was nothing new. Someone was always saying something about his ‘Death Eater ways’ or something equally offensive about his sexuality. So be it.

              Draco stopped crouching. He walked past another pair of Healers who didn’t bother to hide their shock that he was back, jaws scraping the staircase as he stomped up it.

              He felt a horrible, rotten anger growing inside of his chest. Had they all just expected him to lay down his wand and die over this? Oh, how little they knew of his tenacity. Draco would show them, he’d show them all.

              Draco was so furious he didn’t notice the stares of others that were doubtlessly on him in St Mungo’s halls. He was of one mind— _get to the office, and then you can break down if you need to_. Just get to the office, to the office, to the office—

              “Healer Malfoy?” rang a familiar voice just as Draco reached for the doorknob to his office. Merlin’s fucking arse.

              Slowly, almost shakily, Draco turned around to face Head Healer Pye.

              The older man stood about as tall as Draco but he had a way of making even a Malfoy feel small in his presence. “Healer Malfoy,” Pye repeated since Draco was just staring at him with his mouth open.

              “Yes, Pye?” Draco asked as if nothing was wrong at all.

              “We need to have a discussion.” That was code for ‘you fucked up’ in Pye-speak.

              “Please, step into my office,” Draco said tersely, unlocking the door and stepping inside to hold the door open for his boss. He hated having a boss. Why couldn’t he just save and heal people without this looming hierarchy? And why did the looming hierarchy have to be headed by such a nit-picking, sour old man?

              Draco closed the door behind his boss and took in the familiar scenery of his office. This place was his own private zone, and having Pye in there with him was greatly disrupting the peace he’d hoped he’d feel upon arriving here.

              “We need to have a discussion,” Pye repeated.

              “What about?” Draco asked, bold as ever. If Pye was seriously going to do this the second he got back then he was going to make it as difficult as possible for him.

              Pye narrowed his eyes. “You know what about.” He sighed, shaking his head. “A lot of people stuck their necks out for you to even have this position, you know. Your kind wasn’t welcome here, not after we’d seen the damage you people did during the War.”

              Draco blinked back surprise. Maybe it was because they were alone but Pye had never been bold enough to say things like this before. He’d had his thinly-veiled disgust, yes, but he’d never been so blatant. “The War is long over, Pye.”

              “Yes, well, it would seem so with you somehow securing the affections of Harry Potter. I read your Quibbler interview—the first piece of real news to ever come out of that fanciful storybook—and you both agreed no one was under the influence of a spell or potion. If I find out you in any way used our facilities here at St Mungo’s to put that boy under some kind of influence—“

              “ _What_?” Draco demanded. “I’ll have you know that _grown man_ can make whatever decisions he wants about who to be with.”

              “Don’t,” stormed Pye. “You raise your voice at me, Malfoy. I’ve no time for your sass and back-talk. You listen to me, and listen well.”

              Draco clenched his teeth, arms crossed, listening and waiting.

              “You,” Pye began. “Are in a world of trouble. This institution is a respected one, a revered one among wizards. Like I said, people risked their own reputations to bring you on as a Healer here. Healer Nagelhout? Healer Chapman? I would imagine they’re feeling mightily embarrassed now.”

              Those were two of the Healers who’d first agreed to take him on as an apprentice years ago. Draco swallowed back his anger knowing they likely were embarrassed by him now.

              “I was never one such person, Malfoy. I have been against your tenure here at St Mungo’s from the start,” announced Pye, though it wasn’t exactly a revelation. Draco had always known the man despised him. “And when I spoke with the Board of Directors I insisted you be let go, never to return.”

              Draco’s heart stopped beating, all the blood draining from his face. Let go?

              “In yet another case of people sticking their sorry necks out for you the Board of Directors let you stay. I am still amazed by their decision, frankly, and think it to be wholly unwise to keep you on as so much as a janitor.” Pye let out a huff of disgust. “You’re a lucky one, Malfoy, but not for long. I’ll be watching you like a hawk. If you misdiagnose, if you mistreat so much as a cough, I’ll have your job. If I see one more hint of your… immoral escapades in the press I will bring up your tenure to the Board once more. Do I make myself clear?”

              Draco was still reeling over the fact that he could have been fired, still imagining how devastated that would make him. He could do nothing but nod, his heart starting up again. He wasn’t let go just yet, he still had time, time to prove himself, time to fight.

              “Good.” Pye straightened out his robes and huffed again. “Know I am watching you, Malfoy. I am watching your every move, as I always have been, documenting the evidence it will take to have you kicked out of here for good. Merlin, what’ll it take, photos of your incompetence and shenanigans?”

              There was always a paranoid part of Draco that imagined Pye to be plotting against him and it seemed that imagination was reality, now. It always had been, as Pye had just said.

              “Your first patient of the day cancelled, and so did your second. I advise you take some time to think about the international embarrassment you’ve brought to this institution and catch up on some paperwork before you fall so far behind there is no choice for the Board but to fire you.” Pye glared at Draco one last scathing time. “Your day is coming, Malfoy. I can hardly believe this wasn’t the last straw but that means the last straw is near. If any patient of yours dares to see you in this time you better be on top of everything. Any missteps now mean your head.”

              Draco had no other options, it seemed. He put on an eerie, vacant and toothy smile. “Of course, Head Healer Pye.” Inside he raged. “I will be as diligent as I ever am. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

              Pye made a noise like he’d tasted something terrible. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

              “Then I bid you farewell,” said Draco, opening his office door and showing Pye the way out. Thankfully, he took it without bidding Draco the same.

              Draco closed the door behind him, letting out a shuddery breath. Madness, complete madness—and now Pye was after his job? And had been all along? Draco’s frown deepened, his anger still roiling in his gut. He wanted to hex that stupid look right off Pye’s face, but that would surely result in his firing.

              “Dammit,” Draco murmured, beginning to pace in front of his desk. “Dammit!”

              Before Draco could as much as curse again there was another knock on the door. Believing it to be Pye coming back for more Draco swung open the door and nearly shouted. “You know what, you foul-faced little gibbons—?!”

              “Draco,” said Pansy, putting a hand on his shoulder.

              Draco deflated, all of his anger leaving him in a breath. “Pansy.”

              He let Pansy inside without a second thought and closed the door behind her.

              “Draco,” she said again. “Like I said in my letter, I am so sorry, so sorry that the world found out about you and Potter in what has to be the worst way possible. I feel like it’s my fault.”

              Draco’s silver eyes snapped to her brown ones. Could it be her fault?

              “I was the one who insisted you message someone from that magazine,” Pansy lamented.

              Oh. So she was just blaming herself unduly. Right, of course. “Pansy, it’s not your fault. Whoever leaked the conversations is whose fault it is,” Draco clarified for her.

              Pansy sighed and took a seat in Draco’s office chair. “I know, I know. …You aren’t suspecting any of us, are you?”

              Draco knew who she meant by ‘us’. “You would have to somehow have broken into Safeword’s vaults if it were one of you,” Draco waved off, having already considered the possibility with Harry. “Or stolen my personal copy of the messages, which I have now burned.”

              “So you _were_ suspecting us? Oh, Draco, that’s awful! We would never—!”

              “I know, I know,” Draco sighed, sitting on the edge of his desk to take a load off of his shaky knees. His heart still hurt to know this job, this office had almost been taken out from under him. “Harry is going to Safeword headquarters today to talk with their Editor-In-Chief and see which one of their employees did it. That’s the most likely outcome.”

              “That’s… terrible,” Pansy had to admit. “But the other option, that someone stole and copied your record of the conversation…”

              “What?” Draco asked, seeing the gears turn in her little head.

              “Did you ever bring the magazine to the Hospital?” she asked.

              Draco blinked and tried to remember. “…Once,” he confirmed. “Just the once.”

              “Then that opens up a new pool of suspects, doesn’t it?” Pansy pushed.

              “So you’re suggesting that someone here wanted to sabotage me so badly they put a spell on my room to tell them what literature I was bringing in and out? I was only looking at Harry’s ad once in the office, just the once…” If that had been his mistake, if that was why the two of them were suffering now, Draco didn’t think he could forgive himself for his own stupidity. He should have known better, should have seen this place for what it was, a dangerous den of derailers who hated him for his position and prowess.

              “Sadly,” said Pansy. “Just the once is all it would take. Can you think of anyone here who wants to see you fail? Wait, that was a stupid question, everyone here but me and a key few want to see you fail.”

              “Thanks for the pick-me-up, Pans. You’re excellent at this.”

              “Oh, hush up. I’m just being realistic—we have a large suspect pool. What would Harry’s ickle Auror friends say if they were investigating? You’ve got to think like one of them,” she said, pressing her fingertip to her temple as if she were displaying something.

              Draco didn’t particularly want to play Auror this morning but it wasn’t like he had any patients to tend to. “Can we discuss this later?” he asked, already feeling drained by the day and it had hardly started. “I have some paperwork to do that Pye will skin me alive for if I don’t complete by end of day.”

              “That old coot? I hate that you have to take orders from him. You’re a better Healer than him, and he knows it,” Pansy scoffed.

              “Pansy,” Draco said slowly. “That’s it. Pansy, you’re a genius!”

              “I know I am, but what am I right about this time?”

              “The only person who could put a spell on my office without my noticing, the person who wants most to bring me down—what if the press leaker was Pye?”

              Pansy’s mouth fell open, but she couldn’t deny her friend, with her help, might indeed be right. “Well, we’d have to find proof, but if we could…”

              “We could take him down,” Draco confirmed, a new fire stoked in his gut thinking of something Pye had said before about photos. “And I know just how to entrap him.”

*** *** ***

              The office for Safeword was not at all what Harry had been expecting.

              Okay, he hadn’t exactly been expecting a full-on dungeon or anything, but the unsuspecting third floor of a business building in the far south of Diagon Alley seemed far too… normal.

              Harry took the stairs up and took a seat in their waiting room like he’d been instructed to, having dressed for the meeting in a blue blazer and trousers, a loose aquamarine shirt beneath. It beat his depression sweats by far, and Draco had called the look ‘sharp’ when he helped him pick it out.

              Harry gazed around the waiting room idly, noting a number of their top-selling issues being used both as wall decoration and sitting on the table in front of him to be perused. Harry fished out the one he knew his ad was in—the Shibari edition—and turned the page to see his own handwriting. It was dawning on him now he probably should have just typed this.

              “Mr. Potter?”

              Harry looked up at the door leading into the office space to see a man in a shockingly normal button-down holding it open for him.

              “Right this way, Ms. Anglewise has been expecting you.”

              “Thank you,” said Harry, putting down the magazine and standing to follow the man in.

              The inside of the office had cubicles and desks like any other office, all of which were unoccupied at the moment. The office was empty. Had they emptied it for Harry? There were little knick-knacks on the desks like people ought to be there.

              In the back of the open-air plan there was a massive glass door leading to the biggest office on the floor. Harry could see the woman sitting behind the desk already, her features coming into view.

              When the doors opened all Harry could do was stare, mouth agape like he was trying to catch flies.

              “Harry,” said ‘Ms. Anglewise’ with a loving, bright, familiar smile. “It’s so good to see you again. You don’t come to family dinners enough.” She nodded to the man who had guided Harry here and the man retreated back to his desk.

              Harry approached a modern red chair and in his stunned silence, took a seat.

              “Ginny,” Harry said in disbelief.

              “Here I’m Nyn Anglewise, better known in the circuit as Madam Anglewise,” spoke Ginny Weasley from her position behind the red, curved desk. She was dressed in black with shoes as red as the desk was, and pointier than most swords. “You didn’t think Quidditch was my only interest, did you? My career in sports can only last as long as I’m young and trained up. Luna helped me get into publishing when I found out about her mutual interest in the subject matter of Safeword.”

              “But if you’re the one who runs Safeword—are you the one who sold my story?” Harry asked in disbelief.

              “No, please, Harry, no,” Ginny assured him quickly. “I would never do that to you, to anyone. Not even Draco Malfoy.”

              “Then you must have some idea of who did sell it, then, right?”

              “I’ve been investigating all of my reporters’ movements around the evening before The Prophet came out,” Ginny informed him. “But I haven’t found our rat just yet, Harry. Did you ever leave the magazine somewhere, or did Draco?”

              Harry shook his head. “I think he brought it to his office once or twice, but sent it right back to the Manor afterwards. There’s no way anyone would be able to tell he even brought it into the hospital, right?”

              “I’m sorry to say it, Harry, but you need to make an investigation of Malfoy’s office if you want the answer to that,” she said glumly. “But from my angle, from my people, thus far I’ve seen no evidence of a leak. We honestly didn’t even know it was you—you paid in owled coin and not from a Gringotts account. Even I missed my own ex-boyfriend describing himself—I look over every entry in our personals section.”

              He let a little bit of blush cloud his face at being called her ex, for he would always feel a bit embarrassed that he thought he liked girls because Ginny reminded him of his mom.

              It dawned on Harry he might have some Mommy issues to go with those Daddy ones.

              Ginny was staring at him quizzically, as if trying to divine his thoughts. They no longer had that closeness that allowed her to read his face, and she was feeling lost without it. “And yes, before you ask, my parents do not know about this business venture and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

              “I can understand why. It’s like my own parents finding out when they did. Your parents, though… they still wanted to have Draco over after everything. They sent a letter inviting the both of us to family dinner this Friday. They’re incredible people, and I wish they’d never found out what Draco and I get up to in private,” Harry sighed. “Will you be there on Friday?”

              “I’ll be there,” she nodded. “For their sake, let’s pretend this meeting never happened.”

              “Agreed.” Harry took a breath, a sigh of relief that this hadn’t gone terribly. Ginny was his ally, she always had been, and she was looking to see if any of her employees were dirty in this matter. Harry had to trust her. “But wow, Ginny, you’ve really made something for yourself with this magazine. I wish it wasn’t at the center of my controversy.”

              “Thank you,” she brightened, not seeming bothered at all. “It started out as a zine I would pass around during parties but it really has become something serious and respected now.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “And between you and me, business has never been better.”

              “What?”

              “The Prophet’s article on you, while invasive and mortifying, has boosted our subscriptions up one hundred ten percent. I know you never wanted to be a martyr for magazine sales, I know you never wanted to be a martyr period in the War, but it’s because of you this magazine can even exist in the first place. You think Tom Riddle’s world order had room for ‘sexual deviancy’ as those fascists would put it?”

              Harry laughed imagining Tom Riddle saying the words ‘sexual deviancy’, that no-nosed freak.

              “Harry, you did an incredible service for our world when you led us to victory in the War.”

              “And look at all the thanks I get for it,” Harry grumbled. “At least your magazine sales are up. Your articles and photography sections, high-quality stuff.”

              “Thank you! Ah, but, that’s not the point.” Ginny recomposed herself. “The point is you’ve done a lot of the heavy lifting for the world, and you can leave this investigation to me. I’ll find whoever leaked your story, Harry.”

              “That’s a kind offer, but I can’t just sit back and do nothing, and neither can Draco. The three of us, we’ll hunt down who did this together,” Harry resolved. “Now, I’m going to need to see the names of the people who work here—we’re doing this together.”

              Ginny nodded. “I’ll have my assistant bring them right in. And Harry?”

              “Yes?”

              “You may not know it, but you’ve just opened an international dialogue on sexuality in the wizarding world that desperately needs it for a second time. Thank you.”

              Ginny seemed passionate about what she spoke of, and Harry was curious to learn more about how she’d gotten to the position of Editor-In-Chief, and how this had all grown from ‘parties’. Were they the same parties Draco attended? Did he know of a Madam Anglewise? “A second time?”

              “Your first revolution was the abolishment of love potions when you mentioned Tom Riddle was conceived under one. Thousands took up that banner and now those dangerous potions are off of the streets. Your second? You showed the world what real love looked like. That Quibbler interview—I cried, Harry, I did. You’re doing important work.”

              “Work?” Harry laughed. “The only work I do is for Draco and the Manor, thanks.”

              “But what if it wasn’t?”

              “What do you mean?”

              “You could be partially employed here if you wanted, Harry. In any capacity you wanted. I think you’d make an incredible essayist on the subject matter,” Ginny insisted.

              “Essayist? I don’t really know about all that…”

              “Just think it over, okay? You can consider it once we nail the bastards who exposed you in the first place. You could have a penname, like me, or you could write as yourself about your experiences.”

              “What, like I’m wizarding Carrie Bradshaw?” Harry snickered.

              “Exactly like Carrie Bradshaw! I love that show,” she enthused. “Instead of covering dating in a muggle city you could cover sexuality in the wizarding world.”

              Harry shook his head, half-amused and half… enticed? “You really are a go-getter, Ginny, but I don’t think that’s in the cards for me. Let’s focus on this investigation first.”

              “Alright, alright, we’ll option it out later,” she said with the utmost confidence. “For now, though, let’s begin.”

              The young man who’d led Harry here returned with a stack of personnel files and two cups of tea. This was going to take a long while to get through, and thankfully they had all day.

              “Let’s begin,” agreed Harry, picking up the first file and opening it. “I want to know all your staff, their staff, and everyone involved in this whole operation.”

              Ginny sipped her tea and offered forth all the information she had.

*** *** ***

              Draco put down his fork, eyes shimmering. “Harry, that was delicious,” he said, reaching across the dining room table to put his hand on his beloveds. “Just what I needed after today. Thank you.”

              Before them the ruins of a massive feast were all but crumbs now, Harry having gone all-out for Draco’s first day back at the Hospital.

              “You’re more than welcome,” Harry replied, running his thumb over the back of Draco’s hand. “It was my first time trying a roast, and it turns out I’m not terrible at it. Turns out I just needed to practice cooking to get better at it. Funny how that works.”

              Draco smiled. “Funny indeed. Ah, but really, this was excellent. Very proud of you.” He reached up under Harry’s chin and gave him a few loving scratches.

              “You were so busy eating you didn’t tell me how your day went,” Harry pointed out.

              “Yes, my day… Well. Harry, what would you say if I had a plan to catch who I think might have sold us out, but that it was a risky one at best?” Draco asked.

              “No plan I’ve ever been involved in has ever been safe,” Harry assured him. “I’m here for you, one-hundred percent.”

              “Even if this plan might put us in more hot water than we’re already in?” Draco asked again.

              Harry chuckled. “I don’t really think that’s possible at this point. Can we get much more scandalous?”

              “Oh, Harry, don’t underestimate me like that,” Draco warned playfully.

              “Fair, fair. So what is this brilliant plan, my love?” Harry was growing insatiably curious.

              “Alright, first we need to contact someone known only to me as Madam Anglewise…”

              “I think we should have no problem with that, considering she’s Ginny Weasley.”

              “And then we—wait, what?!”

              “It’s Ginny, the Editor-In-Chief of Safeword, the Madam of the hour apparently,” Harry grinned. “I spent all day with her today trying to track down where her employees were during the time when our story was sold, and we came up with a grand total of nothing.” It had been nice to catch up, though. “You knew of her before all this?”

              “Yes, I did, but I had no idea she ran Safeword. I’ve been to a couple of her parties, and it’s one of her parties we’ll need to ensnare our rat,” Draco explained. “It’s seriously—she’s seriously the She-Weasel? I mean, er, Ginny?”

              Harry rolled his eyes. “And she’d prefer if you not bring it up at dinner this Friday with the Weasleys, not Weasels. Wait a minute. Did you hate her so much because you were jealous of her as a kid?”           

              “I,” Draco declared. “Have no idea what you’re talking about, Harry.”

              “Merlin’s beard. You really were!” Harry laughed, watching Draco turn pink and retract his hand. “Oh, don’t be cross, it’s cute.”

              Draco made a face. “Can we focus on the matter at hand?”

              “Right, of course. Famous Madam my ex-girlfriend throws sex parties is where we left off, I believe,” Harry chuckled. At least life was comedic if not tragicomedic. “Are you saying we attend one?”

              “I’m saying we stage one,” Draco began. “And I ‘leave’ the invitation in my office for a certain someone to find.”

              “Who are you suspecting at the Hospital?”

              “Head Healer Pye, my boss,” Draco said with a big helping of disgust. “He was sure that this was the ‘last straw’ with the Board of Directors that would force them to fire me, but I have no idea what he meant by that unless he’s been tracking my work as closely as I know think he is. I’m not perfect, Harry,” Draco admitted.

              Harry mock-gasped. Draco rolled his eyes.

              “There have been misdiagnoses along the way, never malpractice, but now I realize why Pye was able to call me out after every one of them—he’s put something in my office, some kind of magical charm to see my comings and goings. Pansy and I spent the better part of an hour trying to detect the magic but we couldn’t.”

              “It might not be magic,” Harry supposed. “It could just be a little camera.”

              “What, like a camera affected by a shrinking spell?”

              “No, like a small camera. Muggles have that kind of technology nowadays. Either way, your office is compromised and that’s likely where this all came from. If it is Pye spying on you, or anyone else, they’ll be sure to notice an invitation to a dungeon party and try and take advantage of the opportunity to see you fired.”

              Draco nodded. “Exactly. That’s why we throw a fake one, and stake it out. We would have to make it look convincing, of course, and there is another problem…”

              “Which is?”

              “These parties are traditionally held as masquerades to protect peoples’ identities. It’s how I apparently partied for years with Ginny bloody Weasley and never even knew it. We’d be looking for Pye while he was hiding behind a mask, and probably disguised with polyjuice potion or some other appearance-changing spell,” Draco spelled out. “But if we could identify an odd man out at the party, someone not on the guest list, it would likely be him looking to get a picture with one of these tiny muggle cameras you speak of.”

              “That was something he said,” Draco continued. “Something about trying to get pictures of my ‘shenanigans’. If he really wants me gone he’d take the opportunity and run with it.”

              “Then it looks like we have a party to plan. I’ll let Ginny know tomorrow.”

              Draco made a face. “Why not right now?” Wasn’t Harry just as eager to catch who’d humiliated them publicly?

              “Because right now,” Harry said, rejoining their hands across the table. “Dinner isn’t all I had planned for you tonight. Come on, let me show you.”

              Harry stood and urged Draco to do the same. A small, private smile came to the pale man’s lips. “Oh? And what did you have planned?”

              “No ruining the surprise,” Harry insisted and watched Draco rise with a smile of his own. Who was really the one in control here now? “Come with me.”

              Harry offered his arm and Draco took it, letting Harry guide him wherever he pleased. He was curious to see what Harry would do, what would come next, or perhaps more aptly who would.

              They reached the second floor and Harry led Draco down the hall. “The guest bedroom needed a proper guest bathroom for when we have your friends or mine over,” Harry said, leading him through the guest bedroom Draco and he had designed together over the past week stuck indoors.

              It was a jewel-tone based design, with fluffed pillows of violet on a sapphire bedspread with art of flowers on the walls, all gently blowing as if caught in a breeze.

              The way through to the bathroom was marked by purple flower petals leading across the carpeted floor, something that was so classically romantic it made Draco’s heart warm. When Harry opened the door to the bathroom the light glow of candles all over was revealed.

              In this soft candlelight Draco saw the petals approach a massive tub, bubbling and steaming still. In front of that was a fold-out massage slab, one where the person could lie face-down and have someone work on their back. “Both are charmed to keep warm,” Harry informed Draco, searching his features for a reaction.

              “You did this all for me?” Draco asked, meaning the bathroom design and the mood-setting romanticism.

              “No, I laid out scented candles and rose petals for Ron. Of course I did it for you, Daddy,” Harry laughed.

              Draco gave him a little shove but couldn’t be brought to do much more than that for his sass, because this setup was truly beautiful. Not only had Harry finished a project all on his own, but it looked damn good with the purple and blue towels and bath mats to accent the room. “It’s very you,” Draco complimented. He took a deep breath and turned to look Harry in the eye. “I love it.”

              Harry broke out into a big, cheesy smile. “Yeah? Good. I was a little worried you might not approve of me doing so much without your supervision.”

              “This is our house, Harry,” Draco said and was almost terrified of how genuinely he meant it. “You don’t need my supervision to help build it. This is a perfect surprise. Thank you.” Draco drew Harry into his arms and Harry happily found his place in them.

              “You’re very welcome. I knew today would be hard for you, so I wanted to make sure you had something relaxing to come home to,” Harry said from his place tucking his head the crook of Draco’s shoulder. “May I undress you?”

              Draco’s smile widened. “Yes, you certainly may.”

              He had left the outer cloak of his Healer robes downstairs so all that was left was the crisp white button-down and white trousers of the uniform on.

              Harry started with each and every little button on Draco’s shirt, carefully revealing bit by bit of the skin of his chest that Harry had come to love. The scars there, faint but pronounced in lower lighting like this, were revealed to the man made them.

              He thought of their first time, of him apologizing and Draco urging him to prove just how sorry he was.

              Harry pushed off Draco’s shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground in a heap while his hands and eyes admired his trim waist. “So beautiful,” Harry whispered, and Draco felt his cheeks go pink.

              “And you’re so sweet to me.” What had Draco done to deserve such a kind, caring man in his life?

              Next came Draco’s belt, undone in a flash with the level of skill Harry had come to in disrobing Draco after all this practice. Two months and fourteen days together—and each second of them had been complete bliss aside from their outing.

              Serenely Harry let the belt fall too, going for the button and zipper of his trousers next. Once they were undone there was nothing holding up the fabric anymore so Draco had no trouble at all stepping out of them.

              “You take such good care of me,” said Harry, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of Draco’s pants. “Let me take care of you.”

              Draco pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple for it was right in front of him with the way they were standing so close to each other. “Okay,” he agreed, voice soft.

              Harry pulled down his waistband to reveal Draco Malfoy in all of his naked glory, smiling as Draco stepped out of the pants, too. “Lay down on the table,” Harry instructed and watched as Draco did so with no hesitation.

              The pale expanse of Draco’s back was completely open to Harry, his curiosity getting the best of him as he trailed a hand down over Draco’s spine.

              Beneath Harry’s light touches Draco flourished, placing his head in the ring that would cradle it and keep his spine straight so Harry could work on his muscles. After a few more light brushes of his hands over Draco’s skin Harry began to do just that.

              Harry started with his thumbs pressed deep into Draco’s right shoulder, immediately zeroing in on a knot that held a great deal of tension there. “Ah,” said Harry. “Here’s where you’ve been keeping your stress.” He began to rub the hard spot like Draco had done for his back in the past.

              “Yes, that’s it…” Draco sighed, leaning into his touch. It almost hurt to have Harry work out his muscles with such strength, but slowly the muscle loosened its clamped grip and relaxed under the machinations of Harry’s hands.

              Continuing the massage down Draco’s back Harry found several more tight spots that needed a good kneading. Harry attended to each and every one of them, face contorted in concentration as he massaged.

              Draco had gone entirely limp, the aromatic candles of rose and lavender shades calming him further. He was putty in Harry’s capable hands.

              Harry went on to massage his arms and legs, paying special attention to the feet Draco had to stand on all day to do his best work. Harry wanted tomorrow to be a better day for him, one where he could be more relaxed at work.

              “How’s that feel, Daddy?”

              “Like everything I didn’t know I needed, angel.”

              “Are you ready for your bath?”

              “I think I am,” Draco agreed, prying himself off of the massage table and standing on the bath mat above the swirling pink pool of hot water Harry had prepared for them. Draco dipped one foot in and sighed at how warm it was, the next foot following.

              Draco sank down into the bath so the water was up to his shoulders, relaxing back against the edge of the tub.

              “You’re wearing too many clothes,” Draco observed of Harry. “Come, join me.”

              Harry nodded in agreement before ridding himself of his shirt and his pants and trousers at once. He stepped out of them and into the bathtub, into Draco’s open and inviting arms.

              “There you are,” Draco murmured, kissing his cheek a few times as he wrapped his arms around him, their bodies pressed together under the water’s surface. “That’s my good boy.”

              A warm glow came over Harry and it was hardly the water’s fault. “Here I am,” Harry confirmed. “All yours.”

              Draco could hardly stand not kissing Harry a second longer so he tilted his head to the side and united their lips. Harry let out a small noise, turning and curling into his grip and up against his body.

              When they eventually had to part for air Harry let out a shuddery sigh. “Why do I have a feeling this bath is going to make us more dirty than it is clean?” he grinned.

              “I have,” Draco said, smoothing his hands down his chest and to his hips. “No idea what you’re talking about, dear.” He moved back and squeezed the globes of Harry’s arse with a happy sigh.

              Facing his lover, Harry had no problem at all getting dirty in the tub with him. He could see through the pink bubbles that Draco was getting excited, so he dipped a hand below the water’s surface to take hold of him. “So you wouldn’t know anything about this?” Harry asked innocently, giving Draco’s cock a gentle tug.

              Draco broke into a big smile after a small moan escaped him. “I may know a thing or two about that. I am a Healer, after all. I know the body most intimately.”

              “Yeah?” Harry breathed, ghosting his lips over Draco’s and starting to stroke him beneath the water. “Why don’t you tell me all about it, hm?”

              A little shiver ran up Draco’s spine, gripping Harry’s arse to play with it while Harry stroked. “Well,” he spoke if a bit shakily. “A massage is meant to draw blood to the aching muscles, to trigger healing. Now that you’ve got my blood pumping I see where you wanted it to go all along. I don’t know if you know this, but when a man loves another man very much—“

              Harry cut him off with a little snort. “I think I know a thing or two about that, yes.”

              Draco pinched his arse and Harry let out a surprised noise. “Let me finish!”

              “Alright, alright,” Harry laughed.

              “When a man loves another man very much, the way that I love you, he stimulates the muscles and nerves here,” Draco said, pressing his fingertip to Harry’s hole. A little noise left Harry. “To make him whine like a whore.”

              Harry pushed back against the finger and Draco smirked.

              “You like that? I could put one in you even without lubricant, I know you could take it.”

              Harry nodded, his glasses having fogged up from the steaming bath and the blush on his face.

              Draco pushed his finger past the outer ring of muscle and into Harry, slowly inching up inside of him. Draco hissed at how velvety Harry felt around him. With his other hand he swatted Harry’s away from his cock, taking up both of their lengths at once. “Now, how’s that, little love?”

              “So good,” Harry moaned, gripping Draco like he might drown in the tub without him. He buried his face in Draco’s shoulder as he held him, lips brushing against his skin as he spoke. “Your hands are incredible.”

              Draco pumped up and down around them, stroking with one hand while the other curled its digit deep inside of Harry, massaging him on his most sensitive of parts.

              Harry, left with nothing to do but enjoy the stimulation, pressed a barrage of sloppy kisses to the inlet of Draco’s shoulder. He bit down and sucked a hickey onto his skin, moaning softly around the chosen patch of flesh while Draco’s finger eased in and out of him.

              Urged on by Harry’s lovebite Draco sped up his hands, making ripples in the pink bathwater and moaning. “You’ve been so good today, so good for me, you deserve this and more,” Draco murmured into his ear, biting along the lobe.

              “Daddy,” Harry whispered, blushing deep and arching his back so Draco could see how good he was. “Can I have your cock, please? Have I been good enough for it?”

              Draco smirked. “Yes, darling.” He eased the finger out of him and released their erections, giving himself a small shiver. “Like this,” he said, and turned Harry around to close his hands around the edge of the tub.

              Harry kept the arch in his back when he gripped the side, sticking his arse up just above the level of the water. He looked over his shoulder and shook his hips enticingly, earning him a few more pinches for his impatience. He took each one with a happy mewl.

              “Now,” Draco said, reaching for his wand and summoning a handful of lubricant. “What do we say when Daddy’s so nice?”

              “Thank you, Daddy,” Harry practically purred.

              Draco spread Harry’s cheeks with a grin. “Yes, that’s right. Keep thanking me and you’ll keep getting more. I love a grateful whore.” He got up on his knees behind Harry, slipping in two lubricated digits with some effort. “Come on, what do we say?”

              “Thank you, Daddy, thank you for your fingers,” Harry whimpered, body hot all over and lost in complete lust.

              “Oh, you’ll be taking more than my fingers,” Draco assured him. “But I won’t be cruel, I’ll open you up first.” Draco scissored his fingers open inside of Harry again and again, pushing his walls out and kneading his prostate with his top knuckles.

              Harry rested his head on the side of the edge of the tub, moaning and shaking slightly around the knees. Draco’s other wet hand wrapped around him to tease the tip of his cock, rubbing in the slit with just one finger. “Thank you, Daddy…”

              “You’re very,” said Draco, pushing his fingers out as wide as they would go and lining up his hips. “Very welcome.” He sank into Harry without warning, drawing a gasp from the other man that he cherished the sound of. “Steady, darling.”

              “Thank you, Daddy, thank you for your perfect cock.”

              Draco eased in deeper, burying himself up to his balls in Harry Potter. “Such a good boy,” he praised, wet hands coming to rest on his hips and grip them tight. Carefully he eased back and then forward again, stuffing Harry full of him and watching how his little hole expanded to take it all in.

              The burn of the stretch climbed its way up Harry’s backside, forcing a shudder out of him when Draco pushed fully back in again, grinding his hips so deep. “Thank,” Harry panted. “Thank you…”

              Draco slid almost all the way out and then pushed back in, earning a groan from the both of them at once. He repeated the motion, this time faster, and the next time faster, until he had established a savage rhythm that echoed in the bathroom every time their skin slapped together.

              “That’s my boy, so sweet, so submissive for me,” Draco breathed, fucking him with reckless abandon. The water in the tub sloshed and threatened to spill over the sides. “Takes anything I give him.”

              “And I love it,” Harry answered, knuckles gone white gripping the side of the tub. “I love to take what you give me. I love your cock, I love your hands, I love you.” He moaned with every meeting of their hips. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

              Warmth blossomed in Draco’s chest to which there was nothing he could compare it with. How could Harry be so sexy while saying an ‘I love you’? Draco grunted and drove his hips harder into him. “I bet I can fuck you right to orgasm, no need to even touch you. You really love cock, don’t you?”

              “Your cock,” Harry corrected breathlessly. “I love your cock, and everything you do to me. Fuck me, fuck me Daddy-!”

              And how could Draco refuse? He thrust roughly into the tight heat of Harry, giving him the brutal shagging he requested. Water swished over the side of the tub and onto the bath mat, but Draco could care less about the mess they were making. He was thrusting into Harry with only one goal in mind, to make him burst on cock alone.

              “I don’t hear you thanking me,” Draco reminded and gave Harry’s arse a firm slap.

              “Thank you!” Harry cried out, breathing growing thin and wispy. “Thank you, thank you Daddy!”

              “That’s right, that’s right, darling,” Draco breathed, all the stress of the day melting away when he was working Harry’s hips with his.

              “Thank you, thank you,” Harry continued because he couldn’t stop saying it now, lest Draco stop moving his hips like that, zeroing right in on his prostate with his cockhead.

              Draco groaned, inching ever close to his edge but refusing to give in until he made Harry hit his. He moved one hand from his hips to bury in that raven dark hair, tugging on it to lift his chin up while he fucked him. “Say it,” Draco demanded. “Louder!”

              “Thank you!” Harry called out, his words ringing off the bathroom walls. “Thank you, thank you—oh, fuck—thank, thank you!”

              Draco could feel him starting to tremble, feel him starting to reach that place where he could get Harry to say or do anything for his orgasm. Draco was feeling kind, though, after everything Harry had done for him that night, and wouldn’t make him work too hard for it.

              “Please, can I, can I—“ Caught between saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ Harry fell into incomprehensible moans.

              “Yes,” Draco hissed. “Yes, my polite love. Come for me, come with me—Oh!”

              “Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou—“

              Both men gave one final groan before their climaxes took them both, Draco filling Harry up and Harry shooting ropes of white into the tub.

              For a moment the whole world was blurry for Harry, his vision foggy and hazy as his grip loosened on the edge of the tub. Draco holding him up by his hair and hip was the only way to keep him from sinking down into the bath bubbles.

              “…Harry, Harry,” Draco called to him, his voice soft and soothing.

              “Daddy…”

              “Daddy’s here.” Draco slid his softening cock out of him and wrapped both arms around his waist so he could pull Harry back into sitting in the tub with him like they were before. Draco’s lips on Harry’s shoulders made a line of kisses all the way around them both. “Daddy’s here. What a good boy you were.”

              “I was?” Harry asked, leaning back into Draco instinctively.

              “Yes, love. You were the best,” Draco reassured his out-of-it cutie. “Told you I could make you come on my cock alone.”

              Harry hummed. “Never doubted you for a second.”

              “Good, good…” Draco kissed the back of Harry’s neck. “Such a good boy.”            

              “I love you, Draco,” Harry said next, bringing a pink flush to both of their faces.

              “And I love you, Harry. Immensely.”

              Harry nuzzled back against Draco. The two sat in the bath for a long moment before Draco pulled the plug, starting to drain it.

              As the water level fell around them Harry closed his eyes and wondered: was this what true love felt like? The kind they had in storybooks and poetry and songs.

              It must have been, it must have been.

 


End file.
